Carpe Diem
by Bertie Bott
Summary: The future is explained through the past and everything happens for a reason. Hermione becomes an active part of the history she studies so diligently in class. A dream come true, right? Nothing is as it seems...
1. Snakes and Lies

(a/n): my first Tom/Hermione fic…it is HBP compliant, although some out of character-ness is unavoidable…I hope you enjoy!

_CARPE DIEM _

Chapter One

Even though she couldn't see them, she knew they were there. In her mind's eye she saw them as clearly as she did when they weren't secreted away under invisibility cloaks, one on her left and walking just a step ahead, and the other on her right a step behind her.

She wondered briefly, a small smile touching her lips as it always did when she thought about it, what people would say if her bodyguards were to be uncloaked and visible. A small laugh bubbled within her, but she managed to stifle it. Her fellow classmates would surely run screaming bloody murder in fear for their lives.

Hermione Granger shook her head softly to clear the thought, although the small amused smile remained.

"Something amusing, Miss Granger?" both the soft whisper that tickled her ear and the near sneering undertone almost made her giggle.

Her eyes swept the corridor and when the last student turned the corner she replied softly, "Just the usual, Severus."

"Meaning that she is picturing us in a rather unfriendly situation, old friend," came from her other ghost.

"Too true, Lucius," Severus agreed.

And although she couldn't see either of them she knew they were smirking in a rather arrogant way.

"Why did I have to get stuck with you two as bodyguards? I can very well take care of myself, I'll have you know," she hissed in a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

"Of course, Hermione, we are merely here to protect those foolish enough to get in your way," Lucius smirked.

Hermione snorted. "Bloody Slytherins," she muttered as she entered her Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

She had said it quietly enough not to be heard, but the dry snort she heard from both men told her that they had and that they found her to be amusing.

It was the second week of summer out of her sixth year when Hermione's life irrevocably changed forever.

She had always thought that Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters would sweep down on her unsuspecting parents, torture them for any information, and then kill them when they had no important facts. She had expected to come home one evening to see the Dark Mark floating above her two story house, tinting her neighborhood an eerie green.

Hermione had even prepared for such an event. Her first day out of school, Remus Lupin had apparated in and helped her set some of the most complicated advanced wards on her home. He had even equipped all three of them with emergency portkeys that would immediately transport them to Grimmauld Place once activated.

And even with all of her preparation, Hermione had tried to train herself to accept her parents' demise at the hands of an evil wizard. If Death Eaters had managed to get past her wards, and if for some reason her parents had not been able to use their portkeys, Hermione would have been able to console herself with the fact that she had tried. She would console herself with the knowledge that Voldemort would fall, and justice would be received.

But Hermione had been completely unprepared when she received word that her parents had died in a car accident on their way home from work.

_This isn't supposed to happen_, was the only thought she could process when the officers came to her house to break the news.

She managed to fill out the necessary paperwork and make arrangements for their burial before she contacted Remus. He came immediately and stayed with her while she arranged for items and the house to be sold. He was there when her grandparents flew in from Italy, and he stood by her during the funeral. And it was he who offered Hermione a new home at Grimmauld Place.

She had thought of staying with Harry at the Burrow, but had dismissed the thought no sooner than it entered her mind. She loved her boys, but she didn't want them to see her as she was- numb and as cold as ice.

So after all of the papers and business had concluded, and after her grandparents, her mother's parents and also her last living relatives, flew back out, Remus had taken her to live at Grimmauld with him.

And then, before she had any time to adjust to the loss of her parents, her life completely changed once more.

She had taken three steps into the living room and was faced with a sight that had filled her veins with ice. Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy were standing by the fireplace, deep in conversation. With reflexes that Severus and Lucius would later confide stunned and shocked them, Hermione had her wand out and stunned her ex-professor, the man who had murdered Albus Dumbledore.

She had the first half of another spell out of her mouth, her wand now aimed at Lucius, before Remus grabbed her hand and pinned her arms forcefully at her sides. Fear made her hysterical. What was going on? Why were those two in the Order's head quarters? Why was Remus protecting them?

The questions spilled out of her mouth, one after the other in a never ending stream of accusations. It was then that Remus released her left arm and brought a reassuring hand to cup her cheek.

And with his next words, Hermione's life altered drastically.

"Hermione," he had said gently but firmly, "very few things are what they seem."

Then he proceeded to explain about how the men before her were the Order's two most important members and spies.

Settling in a seat at the back of the class so Lucius and Severus would have both a good view of the room and a little extra space to pace in, Hermione rolled her eyes at the memory.

It had taken much convincing on their part. In fact, she actually forced them to ingest three drops of Veritaserum each and answer her questions satisfactorily before she fully believed them.

Albus was already dying from destroying the ring, they had said, and had ordered his death at the hands of one of his spies in order to secure their position in Voldemort's inner circle. Lucius was indisposed, Draco Malfoy had been unable to do the deed in the end, and so Severus's hand had been forced. He killed the man that had saved and redeemed his dark life, and Hermione knew now that he'd never forgive himself.

But, she could forgive him, she discovered. And she had, within only a few days after hearing the truth. Lucius Malfoy, however, was not as easy to forgive, especially since he refused to offer an apology.

"I did what was necessary," he had hissed at her, grey eyes flashing, "I will not apologize for doing what was essential in securing the safety of me and my family."

It had been a rocky summer for Hermione. She couldn't handle the death of her parents and was missing sleep as well as meals, she didn't want to speak with Remus since he had lied to her, and she most certainly did not want to talk to Severus or Lucius.

Although her life took another twist when Severus came back home after a disturbing meeting with the Dark Lord with news that she, Hermione "Mudblood" Granger, had been raised to number one of Voldemort's priority list.

What exactly he wanted, no one was sure, or at least, that was what she was told. Lucius, Severus, Remus, and Minerva (who was often in and out of the house) all didn't seem very surprised about Voldemort's interest in her. All Severus said, to her at least, was that he was under strict orders to watch, and if necessary, protect her- from what, no one could say. And so, the Order moved to assign Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy as her "bodyguards."

It was rough at first, as was to be expected. Neither of them were exactly friendly people, and she wasn't feeling so chatty either. So, they kept to a neutral ground: academics. Severus had a great command on potions and defense against the dark arts, Lucius knew a great deal about arthimancy and magical creatures, and Hermione herself was quite knowledgeable on charms and transfiguration. Their conversations were clipped and forcefully polite at first, no one wanting to incite an argument. But gradually, their dialogue grew more heated when they'd get into debates. Hermione, who had been a shadow of her old self, began to feel her old fire kindling again as her desire to learn everything she possibly could from these men grew. Soon, they were able to discuss things other than academics; politics, their respective pasts, and even their families.

When the topic of family came up, Hermione had little to offer. She spoke of her grandparents in Italy with warmth, and a small smile. She told them of her parents in short, concise sentences. But she never spoke of their deaths. Lucius and Severus were surprisingly understanding about this and had always steered the conversation away from that topic.

They were an awkward trio, but in hindsight, Hermione could understand how and why they bonded during that fateful summer. Severus Snape was a wanted man, hated by many on both sides of the war and with no family. Lucius Malfoy, no longer able to fill his spy duties since Draco had blown their cover, and who was also alone since his son and wife were out of the country in hiding while he remained behind as their secret keeper. And then there she was- one third of the golden trio, recently orphaned, and Voldemort's number one priority for some unknown reason.

They started out as enemies, then hesitant allies, from that to awkward colleagues, to tentative friends, to uncles and their niece, then to a sort of father daughter relationship, and from there to best friends. She trusted them solely and completely and knew she held their trust similarly. It was odd that she was good friends with men old enough to be her father, and bloody Slytherins to boot.

But, as her two snakes loved to point out, she was mature way beyond her young years, and also had quite a few Slytherin tendencies.

They had been mostly joking when they first compared her to Slytherins, but she had the satisfaction of wiping off their smirks when she told them that the sorting hat had very nearly put her in said house. They hadn't believed her, of course, and had asked her to truthfully tell them what the sorting hat had said to her, but she just smirked and went back to her book.

Smiling at the memory, Hermione pulled out a blank sheet of parchment and her quill, preparing to take notes for her last class of the day. The door swung open, drawing her attention, and in walked Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, her other best friends and her two brothers. They hadn't taken to the news about Severus and Lucius well, especially Harry. There had been yelling, cursing, and even some physical fighting. It had taken more than Veritaserum to convince them. Harry and Ron only came to terms with the two Slytherins' true nature once they went into Dumbledore's pensieve. And even after that, their relationship with said snakes could be called tense at best.

She had expected them to be angry at her, though, for consorting with them, but they were not. In fact, Harry and Ron had been surprisingly understanding and thoughtful when it came to her relationship with Severus and Lucius. She knew this had a great deal about her parents' death and her new status as number one priority for Voldemort. They saw her as fragile and thought one word would break her.

Instead of feeling insulted, however, she chose to use it to her advantage. Now, she was able to balance four best friends, two snakes and two lions.

"Hermione," Harry smiled softly in greeting.

"Hermie," Ron grinned.

Hermione smiled, rolling her eyes at Ron's new nickname for her. "Boys," she nodded.

They silently took a seat beside her, Harry on her left and Ron on her right and they prepared for Professor Remus Lupin to lecture them on defense against a succubus.

Hermione, once Remus began his lecture, took out a special piece of black parchment and rather pointedly spread it out before her. Almost instantly, words penned in a vibrant silver ink appeared.

'The room is secure,' floated on the parchment. The sharp, spiky letters told her it was Severus who had enchanted them to appear them.

'No evil trolls are hiding under any desks,' this appeared under Severus's scrawl and was the complete opposite of his prickly handwriting. This phrase was scrawled in elegant, rounded curves and positively screamed aristocrat in the way only Lucius Malfoy could.

'You even sound arrogant when you write, Lu-Lu,' Hermione hastily jotted down on the parchment, quickly going back to her class notes while trying not to smirk.

Someone nudged her none too gently from behind, causing Harry to look up from his own notes to quirk a brow at her curiously. She smiled and shook her head, and Harry was bright enough to know it most certainly had something to do with her two ghosts and was also wise enough to know that he had no desire to find out what.

Harry, she thought fondly, was a rather bright boy.

'I resent that, Lucius, truly I do,' she scribbled quickly once Harry went back to his notes.

'And I resent you, my dear.'

'Severus, are you going to let him talk to me that way?' she implored.

'Technically, he was not speaking, Hermione,' his writing was almost as sharp as his tongue.

'You're right- Sevy,' she wrote with an evil grin.

Her shoulder lurched when Severus jabbed her, causing her to leave a big ink blot on her school notes as well as for Ron to stifle a snicker. She sighed rather pointedly as she took out her wand and cleared away the blemish.

'You asked for it…Hermie,' Lucius wrote.

Hermione winced. 'Touché,' she scribbled before going back to her notes.

The black piece of parchment was something she had created in order to converse with Severus and Lucius while in public. With a wave of their wands, Severus and Lucius were able to record their thoughts and comments on the parchment. It was inspired, actually, by the Marauder's Map. Remus had given her the list of charms, and Hermione had added her own transfigurations, such as the silver ink and the color black for the actual parchment. Those two colors had seemed very fitting when considering the gentlemen she was conversing with. In fact, she had almost made the parchment green but quickly came to her senses. The mischievous part of her wanted to make the paper crimson and the ink gold, but in the end, she decided that Lucius and Severus knew too many curses.

'Truce,' the words swirled onto the black parchment.

Hermione smiled. 'Truce,' she conceded. A girl needed to pick her battles, after all.

Class passed rather quickly after that. Hermione answered the majority of Remus's questions, earning her house a grand total of twenty-five points, and then Remus sent them on their merry way with a two feet essay assignment on sucubi.

With the dismissal of class, Hermione headed towards the library after a quick promise to Harry and Ron that she'd meet up with them for dinner. Down the hall, a flight of stairs, and two corridors later Hermione found herself in the massive library, her home away from home. She made a beeline to the defense section and took out a book on sucubi, and then three others that looked interesting. From there she went to one of the study rooms placing a well aimed silence charm around it.

Almost immediately, Severus and Lucius took off their cloaks.

"Freedom," Severus drawled as he threw his cloak over a chair.

Hermione snorted. "Eloquent as ever, Severus," she stated.

In one fluid movement Lucius perched regally on one of the chairs. "Come now, children, at ease," he smirked.

She rolled her eyes as she took her seat. "You two will be the death of me," she proclaimed.

"My, my, Hermione, nose down."

"Enough of this," Hermione huffed, "Let's get down to brass tacks: Severus, have you found anything out yet?"

Immediately the playful mood evaporated. Severus sat up straighter in his chair, his eyes darkening a shade, and Lucius adopted a somber air. The two men shared a meaningful look, causing Hermione to frown at being obviously left out.

What were her little snakes hiding?

They turned their eyes and attention back to her, and when Severus's dark eyes connected with hers, she instantly knew that what he was about to say was a lie.

"No, Hermione, we have still yet to uncover why the Dark Lord is interested in you," he murmured.

Curiously, she tilted her head, her eyes searching his for that flicker, unnoticeable to all who had no idea what to look for, that belied his statement. Unfortunately for him, she saw it.

"You're lying," she whispered incredibly.

Severus tightened his jaw, but other than that, gave no outward reaction to her.

"You are," she insisted, "there is something you're not telling me. You and Lucius know something and you're keeping it from me."

Lucius sat forward. "Hermione, you have to understand-"

"I don't have to understand anything, Lucius," she hissed. "You both are withholding something from me, and I want the truth."

"We know nothing," Severus insisted.

"Bollocks."

"Hermione-"

"No, Severus, that's bullocks. Please, you have to tell me; I can't face this problem blinded. You have seen what withholding information has caused," she implored, nearly begging.

There was a long moment of silence in which Hermione fancied that she could hear the grass grow. She waited, hoping that one of these two men would speak to her, reach out to her. The seconds ticked by and as though she had actually seen the mental barrier snap down in place, she realized that they weren't going to be the ones who broke that silence.

They weren't going to tell her. They were going to keep the information from her and she'd face the devil ignorant, and alone.

Disappointment crashed down on her. They had been different, she had thought. Severus and Lucius treated her as an adult- albeit more like a kid sister or a niece, but one that was mature enough to handle the truth. They were the last two she would ever thought would hide something this important from her. But no, they were just like the others. Hiding in some rotten house, plotting and strategizing without bothering to talk with those whose lives they were toying with. It was sick.

But what made it worse was the fact that it was Severus and Lucius doing it to her. She had worked hard to get over her prejudice of them, and they of her. They had come so far since first meeting each other, but apparently, not far enough.

She stood slowly, her head high with the dignity of a queen. "I would have expected more from the both of you," she simply said.

And without looking back, she left the room, not running but walking quickly so as not to be followed by them. She didn't want her ghosts with her; she needed time alone to think.

Unconsciously, her feet lead her to the corridor where the Room of Requirement was located. She stopped abruptly when she noticed this, but was gratefully for her idle wandering. The Room of Requirement was the perfect place to hide.

So she began pacing. _I need answers_, she thought as she walked. _I need to go someplace where I can be safe and find the answers I seek, a place where no one can reach me…_

The door materialized before her, abruptly cutting off her furious pacing. She sighed in relief and gazed at the door that would hopefully lead her to the answers she so desperately sought.

When she entered the room created for her, she didn't look back. As she crossed the threshold, she was not gripped with an inane feeling that something larger was coming into play, as though fate herself had placed this door before her. Hermione didn't know that by entering the room, she had set the wheels in motion for an event that had existed for fifty-four years. She couldn't have known that after she entered the room her life would be forever changed, and perhaps had she known, she would not have entered.

But she was blind to all of this; she had absolutely no reason to expect that she was about to make history. Lucius and Severus had not opened her eyes; they had left her to fend for herself. And maybe, had they told her the Dark Lord's reason for being enthralled by her, told her the story of a boy named Tom Riddle who met, married, and loved a strange girl who mysteriously appeared during his seventh year by means of a strange room; and had they told her that girl's name was Hermione Jane Granger- perhaps then she would have been prepared.


	2. Thomas

Thanks for your reviews…here's chapter 2…

And before I forget…

Disclaimer: I in no way own any of the recognizable characters, or sayings throughout and for the duration of this tale...no profit is being made and no infringement is intended. This disclaimer is applicable for this chapter and all of those proceeding and following it.

_CARPE DIEM_

_Chapter 2_

Tom Riddle was missing something in life. He'd been aware of this fact from a very young age, probably as soon as he could talk, or better yet, listen. He was told he had been an odd child and Tom did not find that hard to believe. He never cried as a baby, never played with the other kids, and generally only spoke when spoken to. He made no effort to entice families into adopting him. Whenever prospective parents had wandered through, he had stayed clear of them, hiding in the shadows while his peers flocked over to them like moths to the flame.

It was all very disgusting in his opinion. Flouncing through an orphanage and speaking to little boys and girls as though interviewing them for an honored position in their home. Even worse were the kids that played their game, those who smiled and pulled out figurative halos and answered the questions in sugary sweet politeness that gave Tom a toothache. It was pathetic, he sneered in his mind.

Consequently, Tom was never adopted. There had come a time or two when he had come close, but then someone would mention his special talents and the young couple interested would have a sudden change of heart. As a child, Tom hadn't understood, but as he grew into a young man, he stopped caring.

He was better than them, anyway.

And so, as Tom grew older, fewer people would interview him to be their son. Now he was almost eighteen and no one paid attention to him any longer, having reached that age that was too old for most couples. He was no longer a little toddler, or a quiet young boy. He was a young man, brooding and sneering. Better than that, he was a wizard.

Sitting on the small cot that served as his bed Tom smirked. It was a good thing no one had ever adopted him otherwise he might not have discovered the truth about who and what he was. A wizard, yes, but not an ordinary one. He was top of his class, the smartest student to have ever graced Hogwarts's halls, but more importantly, a Slytherin in the truest sense of what it meant to belong to the house of snakes. The blood of Salazar Slytherin coursed through his veins and that made up for everything.

Although, his blood did not fill that dark void within him. He was still missing something that he couldn't quite name, something that everyone else seemed to have. It didn't matter, he told himself; whatever it was that others seemed to glow with- he didn't need it. He didn't want it.

So he filled that hole in him with other things. Hate, blood, darkness… everything that on some level he knew would never fill it. And so the void remained looming within him, waiting for that shove that would send him over the edge and into the darkness within.

There was a brief knock on his door that brought Tom out of his reverie.

"Enter," he commanded.

In walked a boy his age named Dennis. He was short, slightly plump, and was visibly nervous about being alone with Tom.

"Well, what is it then?" Tom barked when Dennis merely stood there stupidly.

"Mrs. Cole wants you," he stammered, not quite looking him in the eye.

Tom rolled his eyes as Dennis continued to stand in threshold of his small room. "Leave now," Tom ordered, smirking as the boy jumped and scurried away.

Idiots, he mentally sneered, the whole lot of them.

Standing, Tom straightened the horrible grey tunic that he was still forced to wear, and slipped his wand into his left pocket. Why couldn't these people leave him alone? He had more important things to do than talk to these dirty-veined muggles.

Nevertheless, Tom made his way to the harpy's office, leisurely taking his time and making her wait for him. His fellow orphans scurried out of his path when they saw him, which caused Tom to sneer in satisfaction. Some of the older kids, those he had known literally his whole life, sneered back at him, but Tom was unaffected. He might have found their attempts to intimidate him amusing if it wasn't so pathetic.

When he reached Alice Cole's office, Tom did not knock. He opened the door and strolled into the cramped room with his head high and shoulders back.

"Tom, thank you for coming," Mrs. Cole began, waving a hand at the empty chair before her desk for him to take.

"Of course, madam," Tom murmured politely, perching on the chair.

"Good day to you, Tom," came from the corner behind him, causing Tom to lift a brow in surprise.

He hadn't noticed Albus Dumbledore when he had come in.

Tom met the twinkling eyes of his Transfiguration teacher and inclined his head as he greeted, "Professor, sir."

A movement to Dumbledore's left caught his eye, and Tom turned his gaze to see a girl of his age approximately, who was trying, and failing, to stop fiddling with her robes.

Mrs. Cole cleared her throat slightly, drawing Tom's attention away from the strange girl and back to her. "Well, Tom, I believe we have a bit of a problem," she began.

Tom lifted a brow in clear question.

"Nothing serious," Dumbledore interjected.

The girl snorted suddenly, blushing when all eyes fell on her.

"So sorry," she mumbled, her cheeks tinting red.

"You see, my boy," Dumbledore began again, the twinkle in his damned eyes increasing, "Hogwarts has received a fine addition to its halls, but I'm afraid certain unfortunate circumstances has led to her arrival being much too early. The school, as you are aware, is unable to house students during the summer, which has left us in a rather untoward predicament."

Tom flicked his eyes to the girl and then back to Dumbledore as he continued to speak.

"Our new Head Girl is currently on vacation in Greece, otherwise we would have requested she stay with her. You, as our Head Boy, were our next logical choice. We have arranged with Mrs. Cole for her to remain here for the duration of the summer holiday, and as Head Boy, it will be your duty to look after her," Dumbledore stated.

Curious, Tom thought as he looked once again at this new girl. She was rather short; Tom himself stood at an impressive 6'1" and he doubted that she'd even reach his chin. She wore a black skirt and a white blouse with a plain, black robe over her modest outfit. She was plain looking, brown eyes and brown, slightly frizzy hair.

Her name was probably Jane, he thought.

Realizing that everyone was waiting for him to say something, Tom looked away from the girl and asked coldly, "Why doesn't she just go back home?"

Mrs. Cole gasped at his blatant rudeness and nearly choked on her drink. Dumbledore was about to reply, but surprisingly, the girl stepped forward and stated rather matter-of-factly, "I have no home. My parents are dead and I have no living relatives. Makes sense to send me to an orphanage, no?"

The girl stood tall as she confronted him and spoke with little to no feeling. Hm-m, reflected Tom, this is interesting.

"Very well, then," Mrs. Cole chirped, unnaturally cheerful. "She is more than welcome to spend the summer with us."

"We are happy to reimburse you for any inconvenience," Dumbledore graciously offered.

"That is very generous of you, indeed, Professor. Tom, why don't you take our guest to one of the empty rooms and explain our meal schedule and rules," Mrs. Cole smiled thinly.

"Of course," Tom allowed, standing and moving to the door where he waited rather pointedly for the girl to come.

"My dear, remember what we've discussed. If you are in need of my assistance, I will know. Do try to relax," the Transfiguration teacher said in farewell to her.

"Thank you again, sir. And you as well, Mrs. Cole," the girl smiled, revealing perfect white teeth.

She met Tom at the door and silently followed him. He was thankful that she made no attempt at idle chit-chat and merely walked behind him, dragging her school trunk. He noticed that she seemed to be having no trouble pulling her luggage which led him to believe she had spelled her trunk to be light.

How very practical.

The others once again skittered out of his way when he sneered at them, although they did stare very interestedly at the girl trailing behind him. Honestly, he did not begrudge their curiosity. Tom rarely associated himself with anyone, let alone some girl that no one recognized.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl smile at some as they passed, eyes lighting up in kindness, although he also noticed that her small smile seemed really close to being a smirk. And as he had expected earlier, the girl was just shy of reaching his chin in height.

Quickening his pace, Tom made an abrupt decision to take her to the empty room across from his. He would need to keep a close eye on her, after all, for Dumbledore would surely have his head if anything happened to her. Besides, he wanted to find out more about her. Tom did not like knowing anything, and he most certainly knew nothing about this mystery girl.

Stopping abruptly, he turned around to look down his nose at the girl as she stumbled to a halt, nearly colliding with him.

"This," he pointed sharply to his left, "is your room. This," he jabbed to the right, "Is my room. Any questions?"

"No, you're being very thorough" she countered sarcastically.

Tom raised a brow. "Indeed," he sneered before he continued on. "Meals are at seven, noon, and six. You'll find an ugly grey tunic on your bed, like the one I am currently wearing. It is required that you wear it. Officially you might not be a part of the orphanage, but you'll still have to dress as though you are. Kitchen and cafeteria are down the stairs to the left, and the study room is opposite of that. If you have any questions, go ask someone else."

The girl actually had the nerve to smile at him. "Why would I have any questions when you are being so very informative, Mr. Riddle?" she asked in seeming innocence.

"I couldn't possibly even begin to fathom why, Miss-" he cut off, suddenly realizing he did not know her name.

"Granger. Hermione Granger," she offered.

Hermione, he pondered the name, softly whispering it in his head. Interesting name. Granger, he then mulled over. The surname did not sound familiar which meant she was probably a Mudblood.

"Miss Granger," he continued as though he had never stopped. "Dispose of your trunk and I will allow you to follow me to lunch."

"So very generous of you," she murmured, but she did place her trunk in her room quickly, and began following him once more.

"These Muggles know nothing about magic. They think I've been going to a boarding school called Hogwarts and it would be wise for them to continue believing in that notion. Clear?"

Hermione nodded curtly. "Inescapably."

They entered the half deserted dinning hall and Tom led her over to a table filled with trays. He picked one up, motioning for her to do the same, and then went to stand in line. They moved forward slowly, and when they reached the front, Tom stuck out his tray. An old, burly man with an unpleasant expression and sweat dripping off of him slapped his ladle onto the tray. He wrinkled his nose at the grub, but had long since learned to say nothing. Tom moved away and stood by waiting for the Granger chit.

The slop was slapped onto her plate, but she did not move so that the line could keep going.

"Git on, girlie," Frank barked at her.

Tom watched interestedly as he saw the corner of her lips quirk as she said, "Please sir, I'd like some more."

Tom nearly laughed out loud when he heard her, that being the absolutely last thing he would have thought she'd ever say. Frank started grumbling before slopping more grub onto her plate. It was clear to Tom that Frankie had never read Dickens. And it was also clear to him that this girl had.

What a peculiar sense of humor, he thought.

The Granger girl beamed at Frank, who promptly stopped his grumbling to stare dumbly at her. She moved out of the line to where Tom was waiting for her and he then proceeded to take her to the empty half of the table.

He sank gracefully onto his chair as she plopped inelegantly on hers, dropping her tray unceremoniously before her. He watched her sniff the grey slime and swirl it around with her fork.

"What in the name of Merlin is this?" she whispered, clearly horrified.

"Don't ask," he muttered.

She snorted. "Ignorance is bliss."

Tom watched in faint amusement as she stared at the offending sludge on the end of her fork. She opened her mouth and closed her eyes, shoving in the food before she lost her nerve.

Hermione frowned. "It has no taste," she said.

Tom quirked his head at her, saying, "It's a vitamin powder they mix with water and then heat. Much cheaper than actual food."

"Interesting," she murmured.

"Yes, it is," came a voice from behind her, "It is very interesting to see Riddle with a new friend."

The girl jerked in surprise, but Tom was outwardly calm as he raised his light green eyes to Billy Stubbs and the rest of his friends.

"Especially," he smiled coldly when Granger turned around to look at him, "One as beautiful as you."

Tom wanted to gag at such an obvious line. He was about to retort when the girl said, "We go to the same school," by way of explanation.

"Is that so?" asked Stubbs.

"Didn't I just say so?"

Tom smirked. What an amusing little mouth she had.

Stubbs glared at her angrily. "Then you must be a freak, too. We all know that Tom's boarding school is a place for freaks."

"You are within you're right to think so," was all she said before turning back to her food.

Stubbs sputtered stupidly. "You do know who and what he is, don't you?" he hissed. "He's a freak, a boy so foul he'd strangle you in your sleep, and he holds grudges until the end of time."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm beginning to see why," she bit off in annoyance.

"Are you quite finished?" Tom asked mildly when Stubbs remained silent in shock.

His face scrunched up and his cheeks began to turn an unhealthy shade of red, but one of the others boys wisely pulled him away, leaving Tom to stare curiously at the new girl.

"What a positively dreadful boy. No wonder he was never adopted," she said, mostly to her food.

Tom stared at her, completely amazed. He had sorely read her wrong in Mrs. Cole's office. This was no plain, ordinary girl. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something about her. Something about the way she carried herself.

Something that reminded him slightly of himself.

"Who are you?" he asked quietly.

She stopped eating. "What do you mean?" Her tone had changed. Tom had heard her be sarcastic, polite, insulting, and nice, but now she was guarded, deliberate.

"I think you know very well what I mean. I don't buy Dumbledore's story for one minute, so the question is, who are you and why are you here?" he insisted.

"I told you before," she claimed. "I am Hermione Granger."

Tom scoffed. "I am not asking for your name, Mudblood."

He knew he hit a nerve when he saw her hand twitch. So he had been correct in his earlier assumptions. Tom was beginning to smirk victoriously when she looked up from her plate. The pure, unadulterated hatred he saw shimmering in those brown pools took his breath away. He wasn't amazed by the fact that he had angered her, he'd angered a good many people in his eighteen years, and he was even shocked that she seemed to hate him. She could get in line.

No, what held him captivated, spellbound, was that he realized something was missing. Or, more specifically, Hermione Granger was missing something. Something he couldn't name, but would know it ifhe saw it. Know it if he felt it. She was missing the same thing he was…

"You know what, Thomas," she hissed, causing him to flinch softly. "Seeing as how you live in a Muggle orphanage I could call you a Mudblood, too, couldn't I?"

She made a quick exit, but it wasn't quick enough for Tom not to notice the glint of tears. He sat there, long after his lunch congealed and everyone else left the room. His normal calm heart was beating slightly fastat a new pace, a beat it had never danced before.

And as snippets of thoughts coursed through his head, he could only really focus on one that kept reoccurring.

_No one has ever called me Thomas before_…


	3. Sunsets and Gardens

(A/N): Another chapter for you all…I hope you like it! It's 2am right now, and I'm too tired to run through it with a fine comb, so there may be some grammar issues, sorry!

_CARPE DIEM_

_Chapter 3_

When Hermione Granger left the Room of Requirement running straight into Albus Dumbledore, she had tried to behave logically and calmly.

And she had failed, quite spectacularly, by fainting.

Two hours later she awoke in the Hospital Wing with a splitting headache, confused by the strange dream she had of running into a young looking Albus Dumbledore, which was clearly impossible since the man had been dead for well over five months. Of course, she had nearly fainted once again when Dumbledore stepped around her privacy screen, smiling politely while offering her a sherbet lemon.

She had accepted the sweet cautiously while asking respectfully how he had come back to life looking younger. When he said that he had never been or faked being dead, Hermione began to get nervous. When she inquired as to why there were no students around and he had responded that it was because it was the summer holidays, her breathing hitched. When she fearfully asked what the date and year was and when he stated that it was July 17, 1944, she began hyperventilating.

Hermione was then soothed by a very kind and understanding Dumbledore. With a fatherly smile he had assured her that he would help her and keep her safe during her sojourn into the past. When she had thanked him profusely and asked if she could go to the dorm to think, her heart had broke when he responded in the negative, saying that students were not allowed to be housed at the school during the summer. But then he claimed he would find her a place to stay, and she had felt marginally better at not having to sleep out in the Forbidden Forest. He left her then, to make arrangements for her attendance come September and to find her a place to reside for the duration of the summer.

When he reentered, Hermione was remarkably calmer. But then Albus (he had insisted she use his first name since they were to be such good friends in the future) informed her that she was unable to stay with Minerva McGonagall, the Head Girl, since she was vacationing and would instead be sent to spend the summer with the Head Boy. Who was the Head Boy, she had queried, and when he had answered her, her heart had stopped.

Tom Riddle- why did that sound familiar?

A strange sense of foreboding settled in her chest as Hermione ran through her memories in order to place the name. It took her approximately twenty seconds before the memory of Harry confiding to her in an angry whisper about a boy named Tom Riddle being the one who had killed Moaning Myrtle by opening the Chamber of Secrets came to her. He had then explained that Tom Riddle was the heir of Slytherin, bent on eliminating Muggleborns. And as the memory completed itself, Hermione's heart broke.

Tom Marvolo Riddle. I am Lord Voldemort.

_Oh shit_.

Hermione was ashamed when she woke up twenty minutes later after passing out for the second time that day.

Albus had spoken to her kindly, reassuring her that there was nothing to be embarrassed about, but he did not understand. She had wanted to explain the situation to him, but had feared that the consequences of revealing the future to him would be too great. So Hermione had resigned herself to remain silent.

She left the Hospital Ward with her head held high and her shoulders thrown back in true Gryffindor fashion. She and Albus left for Diagon Alley to purchase her school uniforms and supplies, Hermione constantly assuring him that she would find a way to repay him even though Albus maintained it would not be necessary. In fact, he insisted on supplying her with a monthly allowance and although Hermione's pride told her not to accept his kindness, her common sense won out in the end and she had gratefully accepted the pouch filled with an undeterminable amount of money.

As soon as all of her purchases were completed, Hermione placed a small charm on her trunk to make it easier for her to pull, and they had set off to Little Hangleton's Orphanage for Boys and Girls.

She would attempt to be polite. She would be strong. And she most certainly would try to remain calm and in control.

Well, Hermione thought with a wry smile, she supposed she had never really been known for keeping her temper in check, and there was just something about Tom Riddle that brought out a fierce desire in her to verbally slap the smirk off of his pale face. She supposed it was because he reminded her of Draco Malfoy in a way. Although, she was forced to concede, Draco Malfoy was not evil. He was annoying, true, but darkness didn't permeate the very atmosphere around him. The same could not be said for Tom Riddle.

When Tom had first entered Mrs. Cole's office, she had not been surprised by his appearance. Fate, she had learned the hard way, had a cruel sense of humor, so she wasn't the least bit astonished by the fact that the Dark Lord was extremely attractive. He had thick black hair piled on top of his head that screamed for someone to run their fingers through it, and sage green eyes that were so similar and yet completely different from Harry's. Where Harry's eyes sparkled and twinkled with warmth, Tom's eyes glittered dangerously with a cold fire that made Hermione shiver. When he had first looked at her, she had the sneaking suspicion that he could see straight through her skin and into her soul. His skin was pale, a stark contrast to his dark hair. He was like an angel, fallen from grace and welcomed into darkness.

But then he had ruined the picture by speaking. His voice was pleasant enough, deep and melodic. He spoke confidently, almost arrogantly, his voice changing from cold and distant, to politely curious, and then to cold and sarcastic.

Tom Riddle, she told herself, was a spoiled brat and each word that rolled out of his mouth only served to reinforce her conviction.

_Mudblood, indeed_, she huffed.

Rolling over onto her side, Hermione lightly massaged her temples. She could feel that dull ache starting behind her eyes that would turn into a migraine.

How had this happened? How could her life end up here, in the past?

Tom bloody Riddle, Hermione seethed in her shoebox room at the orphanage. Of all of the decades, all of the people she would be forced to interact with, it had to be him.

Albus had told her to focus on what she had been thinking when the door to the Room of Requirement had appeared. Perhaps then, he had told her, would she learn what her purpose in the past was.

So what had been running through her mind? She had been angry and frustrated with her situation. She had felt alone, deserted by Severus and Lucius who had been keeping something from her.

_I need to go someplace where I can be safe and find the answers I seek, a place where no one can reach me…_

Well, no one could find or reach her there, that was for certain, but how safe could she be with the Dark Lord across the hall, and what answers could she find in this past? Maybe if she knew the question then the answers would be easier to find.

So, what was the question?

To be or not to be- that is the question. To die, to sleep-- To sleep--perchance to dream?

_Brilliant Granger_, Hermione mentally groaned, _first Dickens and now Shakespeare- literary quotes for every occasion_!

With a groan, Hermione forced herself to sit up on the lumpy bed and look at the ticking clock above her door. Five o'clock, which meant she had one hour before dinner. One more hour of peace and quiet, an hour in which she did not have to tiptoe around a troubled wizard who had the magical potential to turn her insides out.

One more hour of freedom.

Sighing, Hermione shook her head in disappointment. She knew she was being dramatic. After all, Tom Riddle was not the Dark Lord yet.

_Although_, a nasty voice that sounded remarkably like Severus, _he has already killed and come up with the title Lord Voldemort_.

Hermione ruthlessly smothered that voice. She couldn't face Tom Riddle while comparing him to the monster he was to become, she wouldn't stand a chance. Taking slow, purposeful breaths, Hermione attempted to clear her mind the way Severus had taught her to do while teaching her Occlumency. Tom Riddle was not the Dark Lord yet, she told herself.

The keyword, of course, was _yet_.

Hermione nearly growled in frustration. She couldn't live like this! She wasn't supposed to be here; she was supposed to be at Hogwarts with Harry and Ron, eating dinner while Severus and Lucius stood silently behind her, every once in a while nudging her shoulder just to annoy her. She was supposed to be writing her essay on sucubi in one of the library's private study rooms as her two Slytherin snakes quietly conversed about the Dark Lord's interest in her.

The Dark Lord's interest in her.

The. Dark. Lord's. Interest. In. Her.

Her heart stopped and then slowly broke into a million, sparkling pieces as the truth hit her.

They had known. All of them. Minerva, Remus, the whole Order.

Lucius and Severus.

They knew exactly why the Dark Lord had been so interested in her.

And they hadn't told her.

There was a part of Hermione that understood their silence. If she had known she was fated to meet Tom Riddle in the past, then she would have had the potential to prevent their meeting which would have had terrible consequences for the timeline. Minerva must have memories of Hermione transferring to Hogwarts during her seventh year, so in effect, she had no choice but to go back. She already had, in a sense.

And they couldn't risk her tearing the timeline. She understood their precarious position and the need for silence. In fact, if the roles were reversed, she would have done the same as them.

But that didn't stop the tears of betrayal from stinging her eyes. Understanding didn't fix the pieces of her shattered heart. They had abandoned her with no other choice, but she was abandoned nonetheless. No one liked being in the dark while others conspired as to where their life would end.

Never in all her life had Hermione felt this helpless and out of control. She felt as though she was screaming in the middle of a crowd while everyone she knew ignored her. She hated not being in control of a situation.

But what hurt her the most, what made the tears that had until then only threatened to fall spill over and run down her cheeks, was Lucius and Severus's silence. Due to their circumstances they had been forced to rely on each other. They understood her in a way Harry and Ron never could. When they looked at her they saw through the act she put on for others. They saw the empty spot she attempted to fill with her books and studies. They saw the pain and darkness that lurked within her. Like calls to like, and there was something inside Lucius and Severus that called out to her. They were very different people, and yet completely the same.

And they had lied to her.

A sob rose up to choke her, but Hermione bitterly swallowed it. The two people she had trusted implicitly, despite their past and their differences, had lied to her, had deserted her and left her to fend for herself in a time not her own with a boy that yearned to destroy everything she was.

Suddenly her tiny room at Little Hangleton's Orphanage felt too small, the air surrounding her too thick. The bland walls around her loomed over her, and Hermione felt cornered and trapped.

With her heart racing and the hot tears falling, Hermione wrenched opened her door and ran down the hall. She ignored the children around her and they, oddly enough, remained disinterested in her. Apparently the sight of a crying person running desperately through the halls was a normal occurrence there.

Perhaps it was fate that led her to the small, dying garden in the backyard where Tom Riddle sat on a bench staring intently at the grass. Mayhap it was coincidence, but no matter what steered her feet to that garden, when Hermione came to a stuttering halt and saw Tom sitting there, she froze.

Having heard her frantic running, Tom turned around to see who had intruded upon his solitude.

Light green eyes swept over her coldly, lingering on her frizzy hair and tear stained cheeks.

_Run_, a voice urged her, _get away from him_.

But she stood there stupidly, meeting his steely gaze with her round, doe-like eyes. Her feet felt like heavy cement blocks that glued her to the ground. Helplessly she searched around for something, anything to say, but before anything even remotely intelligent popped into mind, Tom opened his mouth and broke the spell.

"Why are you crying?" he inquired.

Hermione tilted her head. "Why do you care?" she countered.

A strange smirk crossed his lips. "I don't."

She should have been offended, but she wasn't. She hadn't expected him to care, and in a way, she appreciated his truthful answer. Slowly she walked over to him and sat beside him on the stone bench, her movements deliberate and precise.

There was a moment of silence before Hermione spoke. "What are you doing out here?"

Tom flicked his eyes to her, but did not move his head. "Thinking," he said guardedly.

Another stretch of silence passed between them in which she suspected Tom thought she would ask what he was thinking about. She didn't, though. She didn't care what he was thinking about, and even if she did, she knew he wouldn't tell her what was running through his mind.

There was a small rustle by her feet, causing Hermione to look down. Slithering innocently by her left foot was a garden snake. Bending over, Hermione gently picked up the snake, so similar to the one her parents had bought her when she was seven.

Tom turned to her, then, glancing curiously as she allowed the snake to twine around her wrist possessively.

"You like snakes?" he asked cautiously.

There was an undertone to his question, but Hermione couldn't quite grasp what he was truly asking. So, she settled for taking his question at face value and answered him honestly.

"Yes, I have always loved snakes," she replied.

Hermione looked directly into his sage eyes, and surprisingly it was Tom who broke their stare in order to gaze curiously at the green snake coiled around her right wrist. She followed his eyes and smiled softly at the tiny snake that claimed her wrist, gently stroking its scales.

She could have sworn she heard a soft hissing sound, but decided it was her imagination.

Turning her gaze back to Tom, she found herself under a very intense look. For a while, she thought he'd say nothing, but when he spoke, Hermione didn't know what exactly to make of his statement.

"They like you as well."

Like his question, Hermione knew he meant more than what was actually being said, but her mind was tired and she didn't have the strength or the heart to get into another row with the future Lord Voldemort.

And so Hermione was content to sit in silence with Tom Riddle and watch the sun begin to sink on the horizon casting a golden glow around them, as she idly stroked the small garden snake.


	4. Snake Charmer

(A.N): Again, another un-beta'd chapter, but I hope there aren't too many errors…I had a spot of trouble with the ending so I'd love some feedback! Thanks for waiting!

_CARPE DIEM_

_Chapter 4_

The next few weeks fell into an awkward routine for Tom. Each morning he'd wake up, shower, dress, and then walk down to the dinning room to wait for Hermione. She would always show up five minutes after he had sat down with his breakfast, whispering a soft good morning as she took the seat in front of him.

Tom would always finish eating first and would wait impassively for Hermione to finish before they'd walk across the hall to read Muggle literature or play chess. They would stay there until lunch, and after their noontime meal they would make their way out to the backyard where they would read magical textbooks in the privacy of the dying garden. Tom always sat on the bench, working with the book in his lap, and Hermione always sat cross-legged on the ground, using the other half of the bench as a desk.

From there they went to dinner, and after dinner they would walk to their rooms, Hermione saying a simple goodnight as they parted.

Good morning and goodnight were the only words ever spoken between them, and they only came from Hermione.

Alone in his room, Tom would read his Dark Arts texts, the books he hid from prying eyes. Sometimes he would practice a hex on some spider he found scuttling around, but mostly he spent his evenings writing in his journal. When sleep began tugging at his eyes, Tom would change into his pajamas and settle on his bed to spend at least an hour pondering the strange witch across the hall.

During the day when he spent his time with her, it was easy to ignore the oddity of their situation. When she sat across from him at meals, it was easy for Tom to forget that he did not want her company, silent though it was. As they read quietly, it was easy for Tom to ignore her.

But at night, Tom's mind invariably wandered to her and their strange encounter in the garden.

He had been enjoying his time away from the Muggle filth around him, enjoying being able to breathe untainted air when she had intruded upon him. He had known it was her without turning around immediately. There was something about the air that surrounded her, something that drew his eyes away from the snake that was hiding in a patch of dying grass. When he had looked at her, he had been mildly surprised, but not at all concerned, that she was crying.

The soft glow of the setting sun shimmered on her cheeks making her tears sparkle like diamonds. He had found the sight of her, cheeks rosy and glittering, hair frizzy and wild, eyes wide and lost, oddly endearing. Her vulnerability and openness radiated from her in intoxicating waves, and Tom loved the smell. She was open before him in a way that no one ever had been before, and Tom found himself relaxing as she sat beside him. He had wanted to know why she had been crying, but hadn't necessarily cared that she had been.

Their silence was uncomfortable with its ease and Tom had almost been thankful for the distraction the snake presented. That is, until Hermione bent down and picked it up. Most girls, Tom knew, even those that belonged to his house, would never touch a snake, much less caress it in the strangely loving way that Hermione Granger did.

There was something almost hypnotizing about the way her small, delicate hands ran over the smooth scales of his serpent friend, something almost sensual. The snake had hissed words of happiness as it coiled possessively around her wrist and Tom had no choice but to ask it the question that burned in his mind.

Quietly, he hissed, hoping she would not hear him.

_You like her?_ –he had demanded to know.

A soft hissing reached his ears. _She is snake, but not snake. One of us, but something more_, the little serpent declared.

Something more; what was she? A Mudblood or something else? Something that could not be described, something he had never encountered before. Snake, but not snake…something special?

His eyes studied her as she gazed down at the snake, but Tom did not know what to make of her or the snake she delicately caressed.

After that, Tom tried not to notice how the same snake would appear every afternoon as they studied in the yard. He tried not to notice that Hermione would always pick it up and allow it to claim her left wrist, and he tried not to notice that she would sometimes whisper to it, as though he was her only friend.

But what Tom tried to ignore the most was the peculiar shudder in his stomach that he felt as he watched her small, delicate hands lightly caress the snake, that unusual tingling feeling that tightened his gut, quickened his heart, and caught his breath. He tried to ignore the heat that simmered inside as he pictured her charming him as she had charmed the snake, stroking him the same way she did to it.

During the day, he was able to easily ignore it, although sometimes his hand twitched when the snake appeared before her. But at night, the picture was not so easy to expel. At night, he laid awake pondering this new development with cool detachment.

Lust. It was a natural emotion in a boy his age, but Tom had never felt this form of it. His lust for her went beyond sex. He wanted her, he could admit with fairly no shame, in the sense that every man wanted a woman. He wanted her beneath him, helpless yet willing, scared yet excited.

He had been with girls before in order to satisfy his curiosity. Tall, leggy girls with blonde curls and luscious lips that many his age fantasized about. His sexual encounters were physically fulfilling and few and far between. When he wanted it, there was always someone there to give it.

But he had never wanted a particular woman before. When the mood struck him, it didn't matter who warmed his bed as long as they left quickly afterwards. It had never mattered before, and yet it mattered to him now.

Sometimes he dreamed about her. Sometimes he did not. But she was always there, in the back of his mind.

For nearly a month he ignored his desire. For a month he fell into their odd routine, never speaking to her. But even in his silence, he communicated with her. He waited for her to join him before he began to eat. He waited for her to finish her meals before leaving. He even let her win at chess every once in a while. For a month he dreamed of her, resented her, and desired her before their routine was broken.

"We leave for the beach cove at noon," Hermione said from across the table.

Tom stopped eating, his hand freezing with the fork half way to his mouth. He met her eyes with a brow quirked in question.

"I will need a swimsuit, from town," she continued, lowering her eyes.

Curious, Tom thought, silently waiting for her to continue and get to the point.

"I do not know the way," she finally admitted.

She was asking him to take her. Tom narrowed his eyes at her, assessing the situation.

"Why don't you have one already?" he asked, suspicious.

She jumped slightly, as though she had forgotten the sound of his voice. Hermione shrugged casually once she recovered. "Never had a real need for one," she stated.

Tom kept his face blank as he said neutrally, "We can leave now."

Hermione caught his eyes and smiled softly in thanks.

Ignoring her, Tom stood and went to inform Mrs. Cole that he would be escorting Hermione into town before they left for the Orphanage's yearly trip to the beach. She agreed, knowing on some level that Tom was not asking for her permission, and reminded him of their departure time.

When Tom left the office, he found Hermione standing by the front door, waiting for him. They left silently, Tom taking long strides so that she nearly had to jog to keep up with him. She did not complain, though, and Tom suspected that she merely wanted to get the day over with so that they could go back to their odd routine.

Tom was right. Hermione did not particularly care to deviate from their schedule and she wanted to get back to their normal routine as soon as possible. She was a person who thrived on routines and plans, and she did not like having to break them. She had put off asking Thomas (she had taken to referring to him as Thomas in her mind) for as long as possible, knowing that he too was a person who valued routines. But they were leaving for the small cove at noon and she had no suit to wear, and Hermione fancied taking a cool refreshing swim. If she was going to be forced to deviate from her schedule, she might as well relax while doing it.

So she needed to buy a swimsuit. She needed to go into town and she needed a guide. Hermione had almost asked someone else, but seeing how the other children were scared of her since she was always in Thomas's company, she had decided against it. It wasn't like she was particularly warm to them either, she thought of her brief encounter with Billy Stubbs. After meeting him, Hermione had decided she didn't much fancy their company.

And, in a strange way, Hermione actually enjoyed her time with Thomas. Tom never asked uncomfortable questions, never really expected anything from her. He was the only other magical person around and it seemed natural to seek out his silent company. He never spoke to her and she hardly spoke to him. They weren't friends, but she didn't really see him as her enemy anymore. After a month of silent companionship, a month of sneering from Stubbs and his gang, Hermione began to see Thomas as an ally, the only one she had.

But she still hated the prick.

Or at least, that's what she told herself over and over again as she attempted to fall asleep at night.

She couldn't even convince herself of that anymore, she huffed in annoyance. He simply reminded her too much of Lucius and Severus.

Tom looked at her when she sighed. "What?"

Hermione shook her head and cleared away her thoughts. "Nothing," she claimed.

Thoughts of Lucius and Severus always made her sigh. That stab of betrayal had faded after her second week there, but it left behind an empty hollowness. She knew exactly what was supposed to fill that void, but she didn't know if she'd ever find that again.

If she ever made it back home, she wasn't sure what she'd say to them.

She shook her head to dissipate the troubling thoughts, and forced her weary mind to focus on her surroundings.

Little Hangleton was a small town, not terribly far from London. There was a small district of shops and Tom made a beeline for a small one in the corner. He allowed Hermione to enter the store first, and decided to wait for her outside since he had no real desire to help her pick out a swimsuit, of all things.

He was surprised when she came out a mere two minutes later, tucking a small bag under her arm. Although, he thought wryly, he ought not to have been. From what he had been able to discern from his little mystery, she was very practical and most certainly was not the sort to spend hours shopping.

They were half way back when Hermione spoke again.

"Thank you," she said softly.

Tom looked down at her. "You're welcome," he smirked.

To his slight surprise, Hermione looked up at him and laughed. "Must you always be sneeringly polite?"

Tom snorted. "Yes," he claimed.

Hermione had a feeling he was being honest.

"Well, all the same, thanks."

Tom shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like all of this talking. It was too soon. They had spent a month in each other's company without uttering anything, and now she was bantering with him. Bantering! What the hell had changed to make her so chatty? What was so different about him today than the first day when they met?

"You must be thinking of something truly complicated to warrant that scowl," Hermione said observationally.

"Have you always been this cheeky or are you trying to annoy me?" Tom snapped.

Hermione tilted her head and appeared to ponder his question. "Both," she chirped.

Tom felt a suspicious tug at his lips, but he quickened his pace and ignored the urge to smile. They didn't speak to each other for a while, not even when they got back to the orphanage. Wordlessly they entered the study room and began a game of chess. Their silence was comforting to Tom, who had been disconcerted by their bantering, and yet it was also different from before. There was something less strained about it, as though it wasn't so much that they did not want to speak to each other and more that there was simply nothing to say.

Their silence held firm even as they boarded the bus that would take them on a one hour ride to a small beach cove, and neither of them felt inclined to break it. They sat uncomfortably close to each other at the back of the bus, and with each turn they took their arms would brush. On one particularly sharp turn Hermione found herself being thrust up against him. She put out her arm to steady herself and immediately froze. Hermione stared intently at her right hand resting on Thomas's knee. She frowned at it, as though she had never seen her own hand before. He stirred slightly and Hermione quickly withdrew her hand.

_Well, that was awkward_, she thought as she flexed her tingling hand.

After that, Hermione was careful to remain on her half of the bench for the last fifteen minutes of the trip. When the bus came to a halt, everyone excitedly rushed out. Hermione left Thomas to go to a girls changing tent and proceeded to strip off her clothes and slip on her navy blue swimsuit that was more modest than the two piece bikini her mother had once purchased for her.

Firmly, Hermione shoved the thought of her mom mercilessly out of her head, her mind still not capable of wrapping around the concept of her parents no longer living. With a stubbornly cheerful smile, Hermione briskly walked out of the tent and made her way to the water.

She swam up and down the coast for nearly two hours, her mind restlessly wandering from thought to thought. As she swam north, her thoughts drifted to Thomas. She didn't quite know what to make of him. She remembered hearing Harry say that he was popular in school, well liked by everyone, but then again, she also remembered Harry saying that he was a right prat to those who lived in the orphanage. Probably because they're muggles, she thought as she dived under a wave.

Although, Hermione still did not understand him. One minute he was insulting her, the next he was ignoring her. He went from threatening her, to silently waiting for her to finish breakfast so that they could go play chess. What did he want from her?

Feeling a cramp beginning to sting in her side, Hermione decided to head back into shore and relax under the sun. She trudged out of the water and was about to start walking back towards the others when she noticed a cave not too far up ahead. Curiosity getting the better of her, Hermione decided to explore it.

Little did she know that Billy Stubbs and two other rather nasty looking boys had been waiting for her in that very cave.

Thomas had spent his time at the beach reading his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. He had charmed the cover to appear as Dickens novel, so he felt free to lean casually back and idly flip through the pages. Every few minutes or so he would look up to see Hermione swimming briskly through the water, and then would turn back to his book.

When she had first come out of the changing tent, Tom had nearly died. Her light skin contrasted nicely with the dark suit, and although her suit wasn't particularly skimpy, it also did not leave much to the imagination. She was perfect, subtle curves and skin that looked so soft it nearly begged to be touched. Hermione was the complete opposite of the other girls he had been with. Where they were tall, blonde, and gorgeous, Hermione was short, brunette, and pretty.

And yet there was something that drew his eyes away from his book and to her. Something about the way her eyes smiled when she laughed, something about the air around her. She was beautiful in her simplicity, and she didn't even know it.

Looking up from his book once more, Tom scanned the coast for her, but he couldn't see her. Frowning, he closed his book and stood. No, she was not in the water. Slowly he began to walk in the direction she had been swimming in.

He wasn't worried, he told himself, at least not for her. If anything happened during her time with him Dumbledore would surely suspect he had something to do with it and he couldn't afford for the old coot to ruin his plans. It was self-preservation, he assured himself.

As he got closer to the cave he had often bullied the other kids in, Tom heard Hermione snapping in annoyance, "Let me go!"

She sounded more angry than scared, and yet Tom crept closer to the cave, his heart starting to beat a fraction faster than normal.

"No! Not until you tell me what Riddle wants with you!" someone shouted back.

Tom's eyes narrowed and he whispered a curse in Parseltongue. That was Billy Stubbs. He cautiously peered into the cave and saw Hermione, dripping wet, Stubbs gripping her wrist.

Although she didn't seem too concerned about the situation, Tom began to worry. She was a lot smaller than Billy Stubbs, and he was awfully quick to anger.

"Listen, you meathead! If you don't let me go you are seriously going to regret ever being born!" she yelled, jerking her hand in an attempt to break free.

Her words, accompanied by her pitiful try to break free, only angered the boy, who immediately drew back his arm and hit her across the face. There was a dull smacking sound of flesh hitting flesh, and then silence.

Tom felt a cold fury sweep through him as his eyes narrowed on the bruise already forming on her chin. In rigid calmness he glided through the cave and stood before Stubbs.

"Let her go," he said softly.

A cold, crackling energy began to fill the cave, and Tom knew that if the stupid boy didn't let her go, then he would lose control over his magic and would likely kill the boy. Not that he cared much. Filthy muggle having to reduce to violence on a female in order to subdue her. He was pathetic. They were all pathetic.

"Why should I?" Stubbs stubbornly asked, tugging Hermione to him.

Tom smiled softly without humor. "Do you remember what I did to you the last time we were in this cave?" he merely asked.

Stubbs shuttered.

Tom took an intimidating step closer. "I will make that look like a holiday if you do not let her go. Now."

The boy admirably tried to remain calm, but his voice shook terribly as he asked, "Sh-she m-m-means that m-m-much to you? She is w-worth the tr-trouble?"

Tom tilted his head and focused his cool, level gaze onto Hermione who stood there numbly, watching him with wide fearful eyes. _Snake but not snake, once of us but something more_…Was she worth it? Was she, a Mudblood, worth killing for? Snake but not snake…one of us, but something more…

She was something more than a Mudblood. She was something special.

It hit him like a bolt of lightening, and suddenly he realized why the little garden snake appeared before this girl everyday and what exactly his words had meant. She was a snake charmer, not belonging to the serpents, and yet able to tame and calm them with her voice and touch.

Tom was a true serpent in every way it meant to be a snake. He was slithery, dangerous, poisonous, and cold-blooded. He was the heir of Salazar Slytherin, and his inner serpent had accepted her as his charmer. Something shifted within him as he realized this. Something clicked into place. Hermione Granger, whether she liked it or not, was his.

_Snake but not snake, once of us but something more_…

Yes, she was worth it.

"Let her go," Tom commanded. He would not say it again. This time, Stubbs wisely listened.

He mildly held out his hand to Hermione and she placed her trembling one in his. He pulled her slightly behind him, but his eyes never left Stubbs as he said, "Touch her again and I will kill you."

No one doubted the truth of his words.

Tom made it out of the cave before Hermione managed to free himself from his grip. He turned to her in anger, furious that she would leave him.

_Mine_, the snake inside of him hissed like a spoiled child.

Narrowing his eyes at her, he watched in satisfaction as she quivered in fear. Neither spoke for what seemed to be hours, but what was in reality only a minute. To his surprise, it was she who broke the silence.

"Who are you?" she asked in a combination of fear and awe.

Tom tilted his head and studied her curiously. "You're hero," he sneered.

Hermione tried to control her racing heart. She had not feared Billy Stubbs or his two friends. In fact, if he had refused to let her go one more time she would have taken her knee to his groin and bolted. But then Thomas had glided in, and then she had been afraid. Not for herself and not from him for he had only commanded that they release her. She knew he hated this boy more than her, and that he would always stand against him, even if that meant standing beside her.

No, she had been afraid of what he would do to Billy Stubbs if he did not do what Tom had demanded. Dark magic radiated off of him in strong, pungent waves. Coldness crept into the cave when he entered and coiled around her heart.

_Who are you_, she had asked him, but she already knew that answer.

And suddenly, she had knew exactly what Harry, Severus and Lucius had meant when describing Lord Voldemort, for she knew that it was not Tom Riddle standing before her.

She had been terrified, but also exhilarated. This was the future Lord Voldemort, a man who would ruthlessly slaughter any who stood in his way, and yet he had _saved_ her.

"Why?" she inquired softly.

Tom blinked and took two steps to her in order to close the distance between them. "I always protect what is mine," he said, lowering his voice a few octaves.

A shiver danced up her spine, and Hermione knew that it was this day that would forever change her. This moment in time would serve as a catalyst for all that was to come.

Was she his? How could she belong to the person responsible for all of the pain and suffering in the lives of her loved ones, in her very own life? She hated him for what he would become and the things he would do, but he wasn't that monster yet, was he?

The epiphany slammed into her and she nearly forgot to breathe. He was not her enemy, not yet. And perhaps, if she was lucky, he wouldn't have to be. She could try to save him from himself, and maybe he could save her in the process too.

Something softened within her. A ribbon uncoiled around her heart and stretched out to him, tying them together.

As though he noticed the change within her, Tom silently held out his hand to her once again. She looked at his open palm, her heart thundering in her ears. She was not being weak, she told herself. She was not taking the easy way out.

No, she was doing what she had to do to save herself and to save him.

Quietly she slipped her hand into his and followed him back to the bus. Her hand did not tremble in fear this time, and she did not pull away.


	5. Hogwarts and a Sorting

(A/N): Thank you all for your reviews! It's so great to have some feedback on this story! I tried to upload this chapter four days ago, but I kept getting an error! So, I hope it is worth the slight wait!

And a special thanks to**.oOAurelieOo.** for reminding me that Hermione's middle name is Jane…I completely forgot about it! Thanks!

_CARPE DIEM_

_Chapter 5_

Although she was extremely nervous, Hermione remained silent. With a deceptively calm air she followed Thomas as he crossed the threshold to platform 9 and ¾ where the red steam engine waited for them.

As she crossed the barrier between Muggle and Magical world, Hermione felt her heart give a nervous flutter, but lurking behind the anxiety was excitement. She had missed the world of magic, had missed the comforting stone walls of Hogwarts, and she had missed Albus Dumbledore.

At the thought of the younger, but still friendly wizard, Hermione grinned. Thomas, who had stood aside to wait for her, smirked when he saw the childish delight shining in her eyes and the excited smile. He was always indulgent with her, though, so he refrained from spitting out the sneering comment that popped into his mind.

He held out his hand to her and she took it with an air of familiarity. With his Head Boy badge glinting in the morning light, Tom led his trunk with one hand and Hermione with the other.

The last two and a half weeks at the orphanage had passed quickly for Tom and Hermione. After the incident at the cave, Thomas had refused to let her out of his sight except for when she went to sleep at night, safely locked in her room across from him. His concern stemmed more from possessiveness than from any other emotion, however. Their relationship had shifted into an unidentifiable area. They were friends, but not; colleagues but something more. They spoke more to each other now, about magical theories and random topics. On some unspoken agreement they didn't bring up their past except for one time when Hermione told him that she had fled France to escape Grindelwald, and when Thomas merely told her that his mother had died at his birth, and his father had died only last year. Neither asked the other any questions, and for that they were both grateful.

Their days were filled with reading and chess, and talks about school and academics. Much was left unsaid between them even though they spoke for hours, and they were both careful to seem nonchalant whenever they reached for the other's hand. Hand-holding was as far as they ever went, but by some unspoken declaration they knew that there would be more, that there already was more. There was a silent promise that lurked beneath the empty small talk; a vow that had yet to be fulfilled.

As Hermione took her seat on the Hogwarts Express, she smiled when she saw Thomas placing silencing charms and wards around their compartment. Turning away from the now securely locked door, he smirked condescendingly in response to her knowing smile.

"Don't you think that is a little excessive?" she asked, clearly amused.

Tom gathered his robes around him with an elegant sweep and settled himself on the soft cushion across from her. He gave her a mocking half smile and merely claimed, "No, I do not."

"Who are you trying to keep out?" she inquired as she took out _Hogwarts, A History_ and opened it to page 394.

Tom scoffed when he saw what book she was flipping through, knowing that she had already read it at least three times in the past two weeks. "Perhaps I am trying to keep you in," he countered.

Hermione glanced up at him over the pages of her book. "I would like to see you try," she said airily.

"Arrogance does not become you."

"Well," Hermione stopped to give an effected sigh, "Your Slytherin traits must have rubbed off on me."

Tom snorted. "What do you know about being a Slytherin?"

Hermione grinned and gestured to her book by lifting it slightly as she claimed, "Why this book here has some rather interesting assertions on the House of Slytherin."

"What does it say?" he asked, a distant curiosity coloring his tone.

"Only that those belonging to the house of serpents are arrogant, cunning, sneaky little bastards."

A small smile turned up the corners of his mouth. "Is that a direct quote?"

Hermione laughed. "I may have embellished it a bit. Only a small bit, mind you."

"Of course," he allowed.

He watched silently as her eyes sparkled with humor. There was a large part of him that wanted to snuff out that light since it sparked at his expense, but another part of him cried out at the thought. A small part of him wanted to cultivate it, as well as take it and keep it safe.

"Thomas, what house do you think I'll be in?" her question broke his reverie.

Only she could call him Thomas. Shifting his eyes back to hers, he studied her. What house would she be in? He had pondered that question many times for the past two weeks.

Tom was not a fool. If it was blatantly obvious to him that Hermione was a mudblood, then it would be clear to everyone else at Hogwarts as well, especially those in his own house. In fact, they had been the reason he had so thoroughly locked and warded the compartment. He wasn't ready for their interference in his relationship with Hermione. She was his, no matter what his followers had to say about it, but he knew there would be problems.

He couldn't have his cake and eat it to, as it were.

A lot of it would boil down to which house she was sorted into. She was as loyal as a Hufflepuff, and as hardworking, but Tom couldn't see the hat placing her there. She had too much fire. Slytherin was right out. While she had enough Slytherin traits to be sorted there, the unfortunate circumstances of her birth would prevent it and for that Tom was grateful. He didn't want to think of what his house mates would do to a Mudblood in their den; the way they had treated him during his first year. That had been at first, though. They had learned quickly enough how deserving he was.

He knew it would be between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. She was smarter than all of the current Ravenclaws put together, and had more courage than the average Gryffindor. Personally, he was hoping for Ravenclaw. He would continue his association with her no matter which house, but her being a Ravenclaw would make it more seemly for him to be seen with her.

Tom smirked at what his classmates would think of him, Slytherin Head Boy, walking hand-in-hand with a Mudblood Gryffindor.

Belatedly, he realized she was waiting rather patiently for his answer.

"Ravenclaw," he stated.

Hermione smiled. "Why Ravenclaw?"

"Because you are always asking questions," he snapped.

If she was hurt by his tone, she did not show it. "I wish I could be in Slytherin, with you," she said regretfully.

Tom was shocked at her words and at the wistfulness that colored them. "You know why you cannot," he said softly.

She smiled. "Of course, tainted blood and everything," she said dryly, completely unconcerned about the state of her blood. "But still, things won't be the same, will it?"

He stared at her and began to feel a fist squeeze at his heart as he realized the truth of her words. "No, it won't be," his words were quiet as though he was speaking to himself.

Hermione nodded sagely. "That's why I wish I could be in Slytherin; maybe things wouldn't be so different then."

"Don't say that. You don't want to be in Slytherin," Tom said. "You don't have what it takes to survive with the snakes. You are too nice."

A secret smile touched her lips and utterly fascinated Tom. It was one part coy, a touch mocking, and it was deliciously cunning. "You would be surprised, Thomas, at how ruthless I can be," she whispered darkly.

A shiver danced up his spine and Tom's eyes lost focus. In his mind, Hermione had always been pure, completely incapable of anything scheming. Thinking that had made him want to covet her innocence, protect it from everything, including himself. But as she whispered that statement, he had heard a darker side of her. Her voice had been soft, but dangerous and something in it captured his attention and held him captive. There was something about her air that radiated strength and power and for a moment, it made him slightly nervous.

She was still an innocent, but there was darkness in her. She had, he reminded himself, come from France where Grindelwald was very prominent. She had fought in a war. She had danced in the shadows and touched evil. She wasn't only surrounded by his ruthlessness; she had it in her.

And it excited him.

Suddenly he was very curious about her role in the war against Grindelwald and what had occurred that made it necessary for her relocation to another country. Was she in danger? Would he send any of his minions after her?

Tom almost wished that the dark wizard would try to come after her; it would give him a chance to practice some of his deadlier hexes.

"We're slowing down," Hermione cut through his ponderings.

Tom looked out the window and saw the familiar landscape of Hogsmeade. How long had he been lost in his thoughts?

"Yes, we have arrived," he responded, rising from his seat, "Change into your robes."

They both took out their wands and muttered a charm that transfigured their current clothes into their school uniform. After straightening his tie Tom unwarded the door and pushed it open. Busybodies were buzzing in the hall, everyone pushing and shoving in their eagerness to get out of the stuffy train.

Taking Hermione's hand in his once again, Tom fixed a steely, indifferent glare on his features and led her out onto the platform. He received many curious stares, but everyone smartly moved out of his way without comment. Being popular and extremely powerful had many advantages, Tom decided.

As they stepped off the train Tom hesitated. Should he lead Hermione over to the caretaker, Robert Coltrane, so that she could take the boats over with the first years, or should he bring her over to the carriages? In the end he decided that he wanted to enjoy his last few moments of peace with her, and he guided her towards the carriages.

He felt her freeze as the carriages came into view, and he turned to look at her. She wasn't looking at him, though. Her eyes were riveted on the thestrals.

_She can see them_, his eyes widened slightly.

She must have been very involved in this war of hers, he determined.

Hermione was oblivious to Tom's gaze on her since her attention was focused solely on the creatures.

They were beautiful- terrifyingly so.

Slowly, in a horrific curiosity, Hermione inched forward.

They looked just like Harry had said they did; horse-like with reptilian qualities. They were completely fleshless, their black coats of what could be called fur clinging to their skeletons.

Standing still and motionless in the gathering fog, the creatures looked eerie and sinister.

_Perhaps they're part dragon_, Hermione mused as one stretched its black, leathery wings while she inched even closer to the beast she had ridden and flown on, but never seen.

In fact, she didn't even understand why she could see them now. In order to see a thestral, one had to have seen death, and she had never actually _seen_ death. But, she was forced to admit, it had touched her.

Maybe that was it, she thought. Maybe those tainted by death could see the thestrals just as easily as if they had seen death with their own eyes. The death of her parents still haunted her waking and sleeping hours, and perhaps that was enough to open her eyes to these strange creatures.

Cautiously, Hermione stretched out her hand, making sure to keep eye contact with the thestral so that it was aware of her intentions.

Abruptly she froze, her hand hanging in the air, and turned to see Thomas watching her every move. His intense green eyes held hers captive and Hermione feared that he was going to look into her mind.

Quickly, she wiped her thoughts and put up a mental brick wall. Severus would be proud, she idly thought, but she quickly pushed the idea down.

Without breaking their stare, Thomas opened the carriage door and stretched out his arm, gesturing that she should enter before him. The tense moment passed, and Hermione allowed him to help her into the carriage.

Tom looked back at the thestrals one more time before hoping into the carriage while wondering who this Severus character was.

Their ride was shared in silence and was over quickly. Tom nimbly hopped out of the carriage and helped Hermione down. Their hands still clasped they walked to the looming castle, both feeling a sense of home wash over them.

As they entered the entrance hall they found Albus Dumbledore smiling and greeting students.

"Ah, Mr. Riddle, Miss Granger, just who I was waiting for," he said cheerfully, his eyes twinkling as he noticed their clasped hands.

"Professor Dumbledore," they mumbled in unison.

"I'm afraid I must separate you two. Mr. Riddle, you may proceed to the Great Hall, and Miss Granger, if you will please follow me."

Tom and Hermione looked at each other. This was the moment when everything would change. They wouldn't be the same people anymore. Now they had school and their classmates to worry about, when before they had stood united against Billy Stubbs.

"I will see you later," Tom said quietly, a tacit promise in his words.

Hermione nodded. "Goodbye, Thomas."

And for the first time in about two months, they separated.

Feeling an odd sense of loss, Hermione followed Albus down the hall fighting the strange urge to look back behind her for Thomas. He wouldn't be there anyway.

Noticing her unease, Albus smiled gently. "Don't worry, Miss Granger. I'm only leading you to the staff entrance to the Great Hall. Headmaster Dippet will introduce and sort you after the first years."

Hermione nodded absently.

"I trust you had a pleasant summer," he asked, his eye twinkle increasing.

"Yes," Hermione said distractedly, "It was most…interesting."

"I expected it might be."

Hermione looked up at him, her eyes narrowing on the self-satisfied twinkle his eyes still carried. "You sir, do not change much in the future," she huffed.

Albus chuckled. "I certainly cannot wait until I truly make your acquaintance, Miss Granger. I imagine much of my behavior around you in the future suddenly makes more sense."

Now that she thought about it, much of his behavior in the future could be explained by her current predicament. Albus Dumbledore had always had a soft spot for her, Ron, and Harry. He had always kept a close eye on them, especially Harry, for obvious reasons. Harry was fated to save the world, which meant that Ron and Hermione were fated to help him. She had always thought that was why he had always smiled at her so knowingly; why his eyes always softened on her.

Perhaps there was more behind his interest in her other than what had been apparent.

She followed him through the side door that brought them to the staff table. It appeared that the sorting had completed and everyone had been waiting for them.

"Ah, Albus, right on time. Please, Miss Granger, do come down here," Dippet called over to them.

Hermione gulped as every head turned to her in response to the Headmaster's summons. She walked over to Dippet slowly since she suddenly became very nervous as all sets of eyes fell on her. She had been used to the spotlight because of her friendship with Harry Potter and even Viktor Krum, but never before had the spotlight been focused solely upon her. She had the sneaking suspicion that she now knew how Harry felt most of the time.

She scanned the sea of students with a bored expression, even though her heart was pounding furiously. Her eyes immediately went to the Slytherin table and locked with a pair of calm, sage green eyes. Thomas lifted his head ever so slightly in acknowledgment and Hermione felt her heart slow and her breathing calm.

When she reached the front of the hall, Armando Dippet clasped a comforting hand on her shoulder and flashed a kind smile down to her before addressing the student body.

"We live in a troubling time. As we all know, the dark wizard Grindelwald has been steadily gaining power and support throughout Europe, and unfortunately, France has seen the brunt of the fighting. In these dangerous times we must help our fellow wizards and open the doors to our school to those in need. As such, I would like to introduce you all to Hermione Granger. She is a recent transfer student from France and I expect everyone to treat her with the same respect you have for your fellow classmates."

Hermione gulped as whispers swept the hall; everyone wondering who she really was and why she had had to flee from Grindelwald.

"Silence, please," Dippet commanded. "Now, Miss Granger, if you would please take a seat on this stool, we will place the sorting hat on your head and see you sorted."

Hermione nodded and obediently took her seat. Dippet placed the hat on her head and Hermione was relieved to not have to see the curious faces of the students anymore. Almost immediately, the hat began to speak to her.

"_Ah, a time traveler! How interesting…where shall we put you? Hufflepuff won't do, you have too much fire…yes, we want to encourage the flames, not suffocate them. I'm afraid Ravenclaw won't work either. You are surprised by this, I see, but I fear you may be too smart for your own good. It is to be Gryffindor…or perhaps Slytherin. You would do very well in both; I can see that you already have done well in one. Maybe now we can see how you will fare in the other. No? You do not want to be in the house of snakes? I can well understand your fear, my dear. But what to do? You are so evenly matched between the two: you have the heart of a Gryffindor, but the mind of a Slytherin. Not only the mind of a Slytherin, though…yes, you would meet your match there- you have already met him. Far be it from me to separate the two of you. Better be… _

_-SLYTHERIN!"_

Shocked silence rang throughout the hall as the sorting hat shouted the last word for all to hear. Fear squeezed her heart in a vice like grip, but it beat in a surprisingly steady rhythm. Numbly, Hermione reached up and removed the hat from her head, staring at it in her hand. She rose from the stool and sat the hat on it carefully, as though she was afraid of it.

Turning, she faced the surprised student body. There was no polite clapping from any of the tables, and Hermione well understood why. Looking at Albus, she could even read the shock on his normally collected features.

She looked away from him and faced the Slytherin table. There was not one student that was not glaring at her. She understood their resentment and hatred, though.

Granger was not a prominent wizarding surname and was easily recognized for what it was: a muggle name.

A mudblood amidst Slytherin.

Terror gripped her and Hermione was slightly relieved when she met a pair of eyes that reflected her fear. Thomas stared at her in fascinated horror as she slowly moved to take her seat at the Slytherin table.


	6. Sleeping with the Enemy

(A/N): I know I should edit this more before posting, but I'm so excited about it I wanted it up ASAP! Thanks so much for all of your lovely reviews; they really inspire me to write the best that I can.

Oh, I just recently discovered the Hermione and Voldemort live journal…I'm so thrilled to be mentioned on it, I nearly screamed! Not only is this fic posted there, but my only other Tom/Hermione/Severus fic from fictionalley can be found there (although I wrote it when I was pretty young and in my opinion it is nowhere near as good as this fic!)Thanks for the support!

_CARPE DIEM_

_Chapter 6_

"Mudblood."

"Dirty-veined imposter."

"-We'll hex her as she sleeps."

"It will look like an accident; they won't know _we_ killed her-"

Snippets of conversation burned in his mind, but Tom felt as though he was hearing everything from far away. On the outside he remained calm and collected, but inside his mind was screaming.

Slytherin? _His_ mudblood? How could that be possible?

There was no way she would survive the first night. They'd hex her to death as she slept in ignorance.

He had to do something.

"The first one of you to harm her will find yourself facing me. The girl is mine," he hissed coldly.

Those around him flinched at the ice in his voice.

"But Tom," the boy to his left began pleadingly.

"I will not repeat my orders, Malfoy. I claim her," he ground out menacingly, lacing his words with dark power.

His fellow Slytherins froze at his tone. He was not speaking to them as an equal, or even as their Head Boy. Those around him were smart enough to recognize the order coming from their leader, Lord Voldemort.

"As you say, my lord," the boy deferred.

"You will tell the others my order," Tom commanded.

Abraxas Malfoy clenched his teeth in irritation. "Yes, my lord," he obediently replied.

Tom smirked. Malfoy always did have a problem taking orders. Hermione was nearly at the table when her eyes found his once again, a silent question lurking in them. He inclined his head in answer and she immediately veered to his end of the table, coming to a stop behind him.

"Abraxas move," Tom snapped.

Abraxas looked scandalized. "You expect me to give my seat to _this_-"

Tom turned to fix him with a steely glare. "Now," he ordered, cutting him off.

He moved a few seats down to the left, grumbling under his breath, and Hermione replaced him.

"Hermione," Tom greeted, glaring at those surrounding him in warning.

Hermione gulped at the sound of someone cracking their knuckles menacingly. She was stubborn, though, and lifted her head confidently. "Thomas," she turned to him airily.

Tom felt his lips quirk at such a Gryffindor response and he faintly wondered why the hat hadn't placed her among the lions. Still, he admired her nerve. She may be outnumbered, but she wasn't going down without a fight.

She wasn't going anywhere if he had any say about it.

Completely unconcerned about the calculating looks his classmates were shooting him with, Tom turned to his plate and began to eat his dinner. Perhaps the thing he missed most when he was sent away to that Godforsaken orphanage was Hogwarts's food. If he had to suffer that vitamin powder one more day he may have Avada-d the cook.

Hermione, who was also thoroughly enjoying the taste of real food, casually stretched out her left arm to grab a roll when someone grabbed her forcefully by the wrist. But, just as quickly as the culprit clutched her, he released her at the sound of an angry hiss.

"What the hell was that?" asked the sixth year boy across the table who had seized her.

Tom looked up from his meal, curiosity and anger melting in his eyes. When he saw Hermione smile, though, he pushed his anger aside to focus on her answer.

Hermione fought the urge to snicker as she rolled up her sleeve and revealed the garden snake wrapped cozily around her wrist. "That, you twit, was the sound of an unhappy snake," she said loftily.

"You actually brought him with you?" Tom asked incredulously.

"Well, I couldn't just leave him. He'd show up every afternoon looking for me; and besides, I need a familiar."

"You brought a snake as a familiar?" someone across the table and to the right inquired in a strange mixture of disbelief and respect.

Hermione shuffled slightly in her seat. "Yes, well, I like snakes."

Her explanation was pitiful and she knew it, but she couldn't very well say that the thought of abandoning her friend had nearly torn her heart to pieces. She couldn't explain that this little snake had brought her a measure of comfort simply by its reassuring weight wrapped around her wrist. And she couldn't tell them that this little snake reminded her of her life before Hogwarts, reminded her of the garden snake her parents had brought home on her seventh birthday.

And she couldn't bring herself to part with the one link, however small and insignificant, she had to connect her with her parents.

Belatedly, Hermione shook away her thoughts. She turned to the boy who had attempted to touch her and snapped, "This is Lu, touch him or me again and I'll hex you so that the next time you wake up it'll be 1997 and then, I'll start over again."

As far as threats go, it was creative, but not terribly effective. Her comment only caused sneers and grumpy murmurings from those around her; they were done being curious about her and were back to hating her.

No curses were thrown, though, and for that Tom was grateful. He didn't doubt that all of Slytherin would heed his orders, but Tom couldn't be with Hermione all of the time. There would be moments when she'd be alone, unguarded, and if any of the snakes caught her at such a time, he knew his command would easily be forgotten.

And there wasn't anything he could do about it.

In his own aspirations for power, Tom would, quite regrettably, need help. He knew that much of his success would not only depend upon himself, but his followers. In his preparations, he had studied his predecessors and doing so had allowed him to create a foolproof plan.

First, he would gather an inner circle of followers and they would be the legs he would stand on. He would gain their trust and respect, and they would love him. In return for their devotion, Lord Voldemort would give them a purpose. The Dark Lord would unite his inner circle and give his followers a cause, but more importantly, he would give them a scapegoat. _They_ were not to blame for the things wrong in the Wizarding World, not the _purebloods_.

But the Muggles and the filthy mudbloods invading their schools and government were. Tom did not necessarily believe his own propaganda- he himself was half muggle, after all, and he was the most powerful wizard that Hogwarts had ever seen, but he did not care about the validity of his campaign. He hated all muggles enough to warrant their extermination. He found their lack of magic to be suffocating and when he was raised to power he refused to suffer their presence. He would kill them for turning their back on him. No one turns away from Lord Voldemort.

So he'd preach to his inner circle and would earn their trust. It would be they who spoke of Lord Voldemort's cause and greatness to others and they will be the ones to gather more supporters to him like lost sheep flocking to their Shepard. And Lord Voldemort, being a kind and merciful leader, would welcome the newcomers with open arms. And as he rose to power, when Tom Riddle became a whisper of a name, a mere ghost that only those in his inner circle remembered him to be, he would kill the legs he had once depended on, kill the memory of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

And from the remains of the inner circle he would rise as Lord Voldemort, a ruler those feared and trembled before, and yet looked on in awe. It was a perfect plan, one that he had already set into motion. Completely foolproof.

That is, it had been foolproof until he had met Hermione Granger. Now Thomas had an unforeseen knot in his carefully contrived plan. How could he manage to keep his snake charming mudblood while the beginnings of his inner circle wanted to hex her into oblivion? How could he appease his followers while still keeping her safe?

Perhaps he could tell them he was playing with her. If he claimed that he was training her to be his pet mudblood they might find the concept amusing, but would it be enough to help them resist cursing her?

In his mind, Tom sighed. There was nothing to do for it. She was going to fight him tooth and nail for what he had to do, but there was no alternative.

Suddenly, Tom was no longer hungry.

"Hermione, it's time to leave," he said, turning to her.

She looked away from the bite of mashed potatoes she was about to shove into her mouth and stared at him curiously. Tom knew exactly what she was trying to decipher. Was he asking or ordering her, and if it was the latter, should she comply?

He felt the eyes of his classmates on him, watching the scene in fascination. He knew exactly what they were waiting for. They were waiting, hoping, that she would disagree and that Tom would punish her.

Hermione was very smart, and thanks to the two snakes she had left behind in the future, she knew precisely what was happening. She had learned very quickly when spending her afternoons with Severus and Lucius during the summer that Slytherins were all about undertones.

But should she obey him? She knew that if she followed his order tonight then she would always be expected to. But she also knew that by disobeying him she was rejecting what small form of protection he could offer her. It wasn't in her nature to follow anyone around as if she were a lost puppy, but perhaps, in order to survive living in the snakes' den, she would have to do so.

In the end, Hermione figured that thinking in the long run was mostly a moot point since the short run demanded she listen to him in order to make it out of the hall unscathed; best not to test him in public and force his hand.

Tom successfully suppressed the urge to sigh in relief when Hermione slowly nodded and placed her fork down. They rose from their seats in unison, the loud screech of the wooden bench they shared scraping on the stone floor echoing around them. Tom almost winced as every head turned to stare at them.

Not knowing if it was against the rules for the Head Boy to leave the opening feast early, and indeed, not even caring if it was, Tom took long confident strides to the exit, Hermione gliding beside him. He noticed in approval that she had lengthened her strides to match his and that she held her head high as though she was looking down the length of her nose at everyone. She did so unconsciously and more out of confidence than arrogance, but Tom did not care. If she was going to survive in Slytherin, she would have to act like one.

As soon as the Great Hall's doors closed behind them, Tom relaxed his pace. He was just rounding the second corner before he stopped in realization. He had absolutely no idea where the Head's dorm was.

As though conjured by Tom's epiphany, Albus Dumbledore turned the corner, smiling benignly; although, both Tom and Hermione noticed there was a slight tightness to his grin and a calculating gleam beneath the twinkle in his eyes.

"I do not presume to know where you are going and to what purpose," he began while picking off a speck of dust from his purple sleeve. "While I cannot condone what you are about, Mr. Riddle, I do believe there may be no other way to secure Miss Granger's safety for the time being. Therefore, I tell you that you will find the Heads' dorms to be located on the third floor, across from the prefects' bathroom behind the picture of Helga Hufflepuff. The password is _carpe diem_. You may want to visit the Slytherin dorms before dinner lets out, the password is _dolosus astus_. Good evening to you both."

He turned around and left from the direction he had come from.

Filing away the incident to further analyze later, Tom grabbed Hermione's hand and pulled her down into the dungeons where the Slytherin common room was located.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked as she allowed him to string her along through the twists and turns of the school.

"Common room," was Tom's clipped reply.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, but why?"

"We need to get there before the others arrive."

They ran down a flight of stairs and turned left, coming to a halt in front of the common room entrance.

"You have an uncanny skill of answering my questions without providing any real information, Thomas," Hermione stated wryly.

Tom smirked as he looked down on her. "_Dolosus astus_," he claimed, again avoiding her questions.

Hermione huffed as she followed him in, pausing to eye the Slytherin common room in curiosity. It looked much like Harry and Ron said it had. Black leather chairs, green pillows, and coldness radiating from the walls. It was the exact opposite of the Gryffindor common room and the fact that she would no longer be staring at vibrant red and warm gold tapestries made her want to cry.

"Hermione, the girls' dorms are up the right staircase, you should find your things in the room behind the last door down the hall, go and get them quickly," Tom spoke, breaking her thoughts.

"Why must I get my things?" she asked.

"Why must you always question everything I say?" he countered.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Why do you always answer my questions with a question?"

Tom began to get impatient with her. "Go, Hermione, I will answer your questions as soon as you get your things."

She was reluctant about retrieving her trunk since he had given her no reason to, but Hermione could detect the impatient note in his voice and the slight desperation he tried to conceal.

With an annoyed huff, Hermione mounted the stairs to the right and marched up to the seventh year room. Like Tom said, she found the door to be the last one at the end of the stretch and her trunk at the end of a nondescript four poster bed. She gave a confident flick of her wand and the trunk shrunk down to the size of a snitch. Plucking it up off the floor, Hermione stuffed her worldly possessions into her pocket and made her way back to Tom who stood with his arms crossed and eyes glaring.

Hermione fancied that he was resisting the urge to tap his foot in his impatience.

She smiled at the thought and made sure to take her time with the last five steps. There was something about a hurried, slightly annoyed Tom Riddle that Hermione found amusing.

When she stood before him, smiling brightly, Tom snatched her wrist with a glare that told her he noticed her amusement and was not pleased by it, and he then proceeded to lead her out of the common room and back up to the third floor to the Heads' dorms.

Pausing frequently to stare at random paintings or to ask Tom a pointless question to which she already knew the answer, Hermione attempted to slow their trek as much as possible. She told herself she did it only to appear as a first year student who had never before walked these halls, but Tom's tight lipped, curt answers and the cold glitter in his eyes informed him that he did not believe such an explanation either.

Who would have thought that annoying Tom Riddle would be so much fun or that he would look so attractive while resisting the urge to hex her?

"I know what you're doing, Hermione," he snapped after her seventh question.

She had pulled him to a stop a mere three meters away from the Heads' rooms to ask him what the significance behind each house's chosen colors was.

"Doing?" she asked as innocently as possible.

His eyes narrowed on her twitching lips and his grip tightened marginally on her right hand. "Ignorance does not become you," he drawled.

Hermione nearly choked on a smothered giggle. "Erm, sorry then," she said, not sounding the least bit apologetic.

Patience had never been one of Tom's assets and the fact that he had not already hexed Hermione to death surprised him. He figured he had managed to resist the urge because he knew that her good mood was about to quickly evaporate.

Tightening his hold on her, Tom tugged Hermione to the portrait of Helga Hufflepuff, who wore a canary yellow renaissance dress that belled out at her hips. She was a heavy set woman with red hair, and vibrant green eyes that smiled down at them, or more specifically, their clasped hands.

"Ah! Young lovers already out for a rendezvous! Well, don't you worry your pretty little heads, dearies; I won't tell a soul about seeing you!"

Helga Hufflepuff, it would appear, was a hopeless romantic.

Even as Hermione's mind stopped and stuttered at the idea of her and Thomas sneaking out for a romantic liaison, Tom managed to smirk and state, "_Carpe diem_."

Helga smiled and swung open.

Not caring about the scenery, Tom made quick work of climbing the stairs and finding his dorm. Hermione, who had been Head Girl in her time, was curious about what possible changes were made to the room, but she only caught a faint blur of red and green before she almost tripped going up the stairs.

"Tom, what are you doing?" she huffed, her annoyance at his strange behavior coloring her words.

Tom stopped at the top of the stairs and went to the door labeled with his name. Throwing it open, he tugged Hermione in before him following her while closing the door. He watched her sweep a critical eye over his room before she faced him. There was a long moment of silence before she turned back to face him. He smiled softly and Tom could pinpoint the exact moment she realized she was standing alone with him in his room, and that he blocked the only exit.

"Thomas?" there was a slight tremble to her voice.

"Hermione, you have been sorted into Slytherin," he began.

"Yes, I do remember, it was only an hour ago."

Tom's smile grew slightly and he advanced to her, lighting the candles with a silent wave of his hand. He chose not to respond to her sarcasm as he merely continued, "You have been sorted into a house that despises you."

"I fail to see why that requires me to retrieve my effects from my room," she took a step back as he continued his slow, leisurely stalk to her.

Tom smiled again and Hermione shivered. "That is not your room."

She nearly tripped on Tom's trunk that lied at the end of his bed. "Wh-what?"

"You can't very well sleep in a place where the person in the bed next to you would gladly kill you while you dreamt," he pointed out.

"It is cowardly to attack someone while they sleep," she proclaimed.

Tom raised an amused brow. "One might merely say it is the most opportune moment."

Hermione snorted. "Get to the point, Thomas."

"You will share my room," he announced.

"What? I will do nothing of the sort!" she screeched.

"Hermione, don't make me regret ever thinking you were smart. You know that you cannot sleep there, so you must sleep here."

Hermione felt her heart thudding painfully against her chest. "But, there is only one bed," she interjected lamely, a blush staining her cheeks.

Tom was suddenly looking forward to this predicament. Perhaps he had been too hasty in his earlier regrets about her sorting; perhaps this was just the sort of catalyst he required to secure Hermione's affections.

A lazy, sensual smirk curled his lips. "Why yes, there is. We shall have to share it then, won't we?"

Satisfaction flooded his being when Hermione gawked at him, completely speechless.

And so began the twisted courtship of Lord Voldemort and Hermione Granger.

_Dolosus astus- _rough latin for 'cunning'


	7. Repression and Divination

(A/N): Alrighty, chapter 7 for you all...I'd like to thank everyone for their reviews and feedback, I confess I check everyday at least three times for new reviews! Hope you like this one!

_CARPE DIEM, chapter 7_

Hermione Granger was in a pickle.

When she awoke only a few moments ago to find her legs twined with Thomas's and her cheek resting in the hollow of his shoulder, her body laying half on his in some parody of a human blanket, Hermione had nearly screamed. As it was, she barely muffled her shriek of indignation when she looked up to see Tom smirking down at her.

_Bloody twit_, she mentally seethed, glaring at the door that led to the bathroom where said twit was currently getting ready for their first day of classes.

Logically, she knew he was correct in his assessment on her not being able to sleep with the other Slytherins. Their glares alone were enough to kill her on the spot and the prospect of catching her unawares while she was off dreaming in la-la land would be too tempting for any one of them to pass up. In order to survive her sorting, Hermione would have to beat her fellow Slytherins at their own game.

She suddenly looked back on her afternoon talks with Lucius and Severus in a whole new light.

"_The time will come, Hermione, when your Gryffindor courage will serve you naught. What will you use then?" Lucius claimed, taking the sting out of his words by allowing her to see the amusement lighting his sky-blue eyes._

_Hermione loved it when his eyes shown with mirth. It always made talking to him seem less strange and more normal. Like she wasn't really talking with Lucius Malfoy, but joking with Lucius- just Lucius._

"_I'll simply have to use Slytherin cunning then, won't I?" Hermione laughed._

_Severus gave a derisive snort. "You don't know the first thing about Slytherin cunning."_

_After the first week at Grimmauld Place, Hermione had learned that Severus had a rather odd sense of humor which basically consisted of insulting everyone and everything._

_He was right, of course. While she was quite clever and devious in her own Gryffindor way, she knew that she lacked the drive that propelled Slytherins to greatness. "You will just have to teach me then, eh Severus?"_

_The mock look of horror on his pale features made her giggle._

"_Now, now, Severus, the girl may actually benefit from our expertise," Lucius began pointedly._

_They glanced at each other, black eyes clashing with silver blue in a silent conversation. With a miniscule nod, Severus conceded._

"_Lesson the first, Hermione: you are walking down Diagon Alley and you discover a bag of galleons someone lost, what do you do with it?" Severus asked, adopting the severe expression that had adorned his dark features while lecturing his potions students._

_Hermione bit her lip. "Erm, keep it?" she tentatively answered. It sounded like a Slytherin thing to do to her…_

"_Wrong," Lucius sneered. "Take the money and turn in the empty bag while claiming you found it that way. This way one will still think you're a good person," he slurred the word 'good' as though it had left a bad taste in his mouth._

_Hermione stared with mouth agape. What a terrible thing to do…and yet, she had to admit it was quite clever, in a sick twisted way._

_Lucius and Severus started to smile at the look of fascinated horror lighting her shocked face._

_Severus couldn't hide his amusement as he began again, "Lesson the second…"_

A small bitter smile curled her lips. Even though they had not been able to tell her about her history, it would appear that her snakes had been preparing her for her sojourn through time. Knowing this comforted her and took the sting out of their necessary betrayal.

What she wouldn't give to have Lucius and Severus with her right now, whispering their little snide comments into her ear as she walked the halls trying not to laugh so people wouldn't notice she was talking to two ghosts. Being friends and talking with them had almost been like spying on the enemy. Their insights on the workings of Slytherin logic had not only been entertaining but also invaluable.

She wondered what they'd have to say about her current predicament, about her sharing Tom Riddle's bed. She sighed tiredly. They would probably tell her to take advantage of it; to seduce him into following her every whim. As if Tom Riddle _would_ obey anyone...

She would laugh at the thought, though, and they would smirk in black humor, but on some level, they would all know that they hadn't been joking. They would point out to her that he would not have shared the bed with her unless he had wanted to. Slytherins did not do things out of the goodness of their heart; Tomhad not shared his bed with her merely to keep her safe.

He had wanted to sleep with her.

_But why_, Hermione couldn't help but ponder. She was female, but she wasn't necessarily anyone stunning.

_Why else_- sneered Severus in the back of her mind.

_Beat him at his own game, Hermione_, Lucius whispered encouragingly.

Her heart thumped at the thought. Dare she? Could she beat Tom Riddle at his own game? Could she, Hermione Granger, bring herself to accept his subtle advances?

The door to the bathroom opened and Tom walked into the room. Hermione stared at him; every black strand atop his head was combed into place, and he was dressed immaculately in his threadbare school uniform, his silver and green tie winking at her. The very air around him screamed authority and the early morning light that filtered through the window glinted on his Head Boy badge. He looked like a snake, coiled up and ready to strike at any moment, but he seemed to be restraining himself. Tom Riddle was always in control.

No, she couldn't dance with the devil. There was no way she could tarry with Tom Riddle and come out of it unscathed.

He tilted his head back and smirked down at her as though he could sense her forfeit. Tom liked the sight of Hermione sitting on the edge of his bed, her hair tousled and her features soft with sleep.Noticing his perusal causedaslow burning fire to kindle inside her in response to his arrogance. She might not be ready to tango with him, but she wouldn't let him walk all over her.

No one could push Hermione Granger down.

She rose from the bed like a Queen rising from her throne. As she walked past him she gave him a calculating look, slamming the door softly into his sneering face.

Hermione might not stand a chance of winning his game, but the other Slytherins…well, _they_ wouldn't know what hit them.

With that thought, Hermione smiled brightly. She would make Lucius and Severus proud, but more than that, she would make Harry and Ron happy.

She showered slowly in order to gather her wits; her eagerness for the distraction of classes as well as excited to prove to the Slytherins that magical greatness did not require pure blood caused her to take her time to set up her game plan. Perhaps if she studied hard enough and verbally fought enough battles with them, then she could forget that hollow sadness that stabbed at her heart. Maybe then Hermione would have the distraction necessary to allow her to ignore the sorrow that always hovered on the edge because she could never forget that she was utterly alone there. No Harry and Ron, no Lucius and Severus, and no family to see her through this new war.

Hermione ignored her tears as they mingled with the water from the shower. Crying would get her nowhere, she told herself. She had to be strong.

Stubbornly she pushed away all thoughts of the future and she brutally rubbed away her tears. She was repressing her sorrow, she knew, had been ever since she arrived and even before then when she had heard about her parents' death. She was aware that it would only be a matter of time before it took over her, but for now, it made her stronger. She had to take what small comfort she could because a part of her knew that the road that Fate had laid out before her would not end the moment she made it home.

No matter how much she yearned to return home, she also dreaded it because the instant she arrived back in her own time was the moment her real problems would start. Lord Voldemort had assigned Severus to _protect_ her, after all.

She turned off the shower and dressed. Hermione would stay strong if only because there was no other option. Muttering a quick charm she dried her long locks, sweeping her bushy hair up into a loose bun in the process. Hermione fixed on her silver and green tie, frowning down at it and fiddling with it nervously as she left.

Tom turned at the sound of Hermione exiting the bathroom, her face freshly scrubbed and her school uniform on. It took only the one look for him to know that she had been crying.

She looked so determined, however, to be happy that Tom did not mention it. He did file away the incident to further analyze later, though.

They had woken early in order to avoid running into the Head Girl, who Hermione insisted be left in the dark about her sharing his room, and to avoid most of the breakfast crowd. As they crept quietly down the stairs, Hermione finally had her chance to take in the common room since Tom had pulled her through too quickly last night for her to do so.

Much to her surprise and dismay, it looked very similar to what it was, or would be, in her own time. There was a large, friendly fireplace across from which were two armchairs on either side of a couch that had a short table in front of it. There was an end table with a chess set on it by the eastern window, and a modest bookshelf littered with the odd school text a past student had left behind. The common room she had lived in had all of these things, but where she had gotten used to Gryffindor and Ravenclaw colors, she now only saw silver and green fighting for supremacy with the familiar crimson and gold.

It looked like a war of colors with green throws and red pillows. The couch was a dull red, but it had velvet green pillows, and the armchairs were a faded green with gray pillows and red throws. She didn't know which house was winning, but she couldn't help but notice how nice the forest green meshed with the dark maroon. The room was an interesting mix of Gryffindor and Slytherin.

_Much like me_, she couldn't help but notice.

She sighed and for the first time since their arrival at the school, Hermione grabbed Tom's hand and led him out.

"Hungry?" he asked, casually slipping her arm in the crook of his elbow.

Hermione smiled in a self-depreciating manner. "Something like that."

Tom looked down at her, but he did not ask her what she had really meant. Instead, he took pity on her and changed the topic. "Do you have any idea of what your class schedule will be like?"

Hermione pondered this. "Well, no, not really." She and Albus had bought most of the school texts since Hermione had no real preference other than keeping defense against the dark arts as a class.

"What classes did you take at your old school?" he inquired in seeming innocence. He paused for a moment, fighting the urgeto hold his breath while waiting to see if she would answer.

She did, rather distractedly. "Oh, I took them all, except for Divination, that is."

He fought not to let his surprise show. This was the first scrap of information he had ever heard about her life before coming to him at the orphanage. "All? That's a bit excessive, don't you think?"

Hermione shook her head, her eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. "Oh no, I find it all very fascinating actually. I love transfiguration the most, I think. But charms, arithmancy, potions, and defense are all really great, too. Lately I've been focusing more on defense because…" she trailed off, the light in her eyes dying as she realized what she had been about to say.

_Because I have to be there to help Harry…_

"Because," she picked up in an unnecessarily cheerful voice, "you never know when you'll need to defend yourself."

Tom knew that was not what she had been about to say, but he nodded anyway. "I myself am fond of defense against the dark arts."

She eyed him in an oddly knowing way. "Are you?"

Tom opened the door to the Great Hall, allowing her to enter before him. "I would not have said so otherwise," he smirked condescendingly, steering her to the end of the Slytherin table. He made sure she sat on the edge, that way no one could sit at her right, and then he sank down to sit at her left.

The hall was mostly empty at that hour. There were a few Ravenclaws, a couple Hufflepuffs, and only two Gryffindors. Three Slytherin girls sat at the opposite end of their table, glaring over at Hermione, and a group of four boys sat at the middle.

Hermione was dismayed to see that Abraxas Malfoy was one of the boys. She knew on some level that she'd run into him, and when she had briefly encountered him last night, she had not been terribly surprised. He was not as tall as Tom; in fact, he was rather short standing at a mere 5'7". His hair was platinum blonde color and while his eyes were the same shade as Lucius's, they lacked the warm swirl of blue.

She wondered briefly whether or not Lucius's grandfather was a spy, too, but when he turned from his breakfast to glare scathingly at her, Hermione tossed that notion out the window.

"Be wary of him," Tom murmured as he followed her gaze.

"I'm not afraid of him," she huffed, stabbing her eggs.

Tom watched her. "You're treading a very fine line, Hermione. You'll soon find that the other houses aren't too friendly with us Slytherins, and your fellow house mates will certainly not be too welcoming of you either."

"So you're saying Idon't haveanyone I can trust?"

He quirked a brow. "You have me, don't you?"

_You have me, don't you… You have me, don't you… You have me, don't you_… His words bounced around her head.

Hermione looked up from her breakfast and glanced at him, surprising herself by her own words as she realized aloud, "God help me, but you're all I've got."

He stared at her, not knowing what to say. There was something so final about the way she had spoken. He knew her parents were dead, but surely she had other relatives or friends from where she used to live. Didn't she?

Quietly, afraid of what it meant that he was saying so, Tom whispered, "You're all I have, too."

If he had meant to comfort her, it didn't work.

She smiled bitterly. "Funny isn't it?"

No, it wasn't. Not really. Tom rather thought it was pathetic. But then again, he knew what she really meant. It was rather ironic that the two of them would depend on each other so. In fact, he almost wanted to kill her for it; he resented her for it. He was Lord Voldemort and the Dark Lord needed no one.

But then he caught her eyes and his anger melted away. She looked at him, her muddy brown eyes wide and depressing. In her eyes he could see the picture of the girl she used to be, bright and happy, smart and clever; and he could also see the young woman she had become, strong and still smart, but no longer bright and no longer happy. She was a shadow of her former self.

"Yes, it is funny."

But they didn't laugh, and they didn't smile.

Hermione was thankful when Slughorn, who looked almost unchanged, came over to introduce himself and to hand them their timetables, breaking the solemn moment.

"Hello my dear, welcome to Slytherin. A transfer, eh?" he continued as he ignored her nod of acknowledgment. "Well we'll see how bright you are- I teach potions, you know? I trust Mr. Riddle will be able to show you to your classes, Miss Granger, and if you have any problems, come to me- I'm Head of Slytherin, dear. Well, here are your tables…" he read them before he handed them over to them and crowed, "You have quite the academic load, my dear! All N.E.W.T. levels! You must be very bright, indeed; I look forward to teaching you! Ah! Mr. Malfoy…" he trailed off as he spotted Abraxas down the table.

Hermione shook her head as he left. The man was clearly searching for another Slug Club member.

"Is he always so enthusiastic?" she asked Tom.

He glanced up from his schedule and gave a charming smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "He may be a bit overbearing, but he has his uses."

She nodded distractedly and glanced at her schedule. She had defense, potions, transfiguration, arithmancy and charms all at the advanced level. It wasn't the same schedule she had before, she had three other classes more than that, but she supposed it would work. Although she did wish she could take herbology as well. She worried on her lower lip before she noticed she had one more class she had missed in her first perusal of the list.

Tom looked up when he heard Hermione choking on air. "What?" he barked, forcefully pushing down the tide of worry that wanted to flood him.

"I-I have divination," she wailed, slamming her head down on the table.

Tom rolled his eyes, annoyed that she would worry him over nothing. "So?"

He heard her grumble from the table, "I _hate_ divination!"

"So there _is_ a subject you don't like."

She lifted her head to glare at him. "Your sarcasm is duly noted, but not appreciated, Thomas."

"I happen to find divination to be very useful," he said archly.

She scoffed. "What little respect I had for you is gone."

A corner of his mouth lifted in amusement. "You must not have had a good instructor."

"I walked out in the middle of her class. Old bat wouldn't have been able to see the future if it was standing right in front of her with giant arrows pointing at it and a sign that said 'FUTURE HERE' tacked above it."

Tom stole her schedule, nodding in approval when he noticed it was the same as his. "It's funny you should say that," he began.

"Why?" she asked, dreading his answer.

He poked her lightly until she looked up from the table. He smiled, thoroughly enjoying the moment. "Because that's our first class today. Ready?" He stood from his seat, suddenly very eager for Divination, a class that until then he had merely tolerated.

Hermione snatched her schedule away from him, her eyes nearly popping out of her head when she realized he was right.

"Oh bugger," she murmured.

She was no longer excited about classes for the day.


	8. Of Divination and Malfoys

(A/N): It's me again! Thank you all for being so patient. I can't believe I broke 100 reviews! Thank you all so much for your feedback and support…I check every single day and all of your comments and suggestions are taken into consideration when I write! I hope you all like this one- until next time! This chapter might be a bit rough, but I didn't want to keep you all waiting!

_CARPE DIEM, Chapter 8_

Tom had not slept well last night.

It had been a combination of slight nervousness, excitement, and Hermione's restless shifting that had kept him up. Though, despite his annoyance, he had found her anxiety to live with him highly amusing.

"Share it?" she had stuttered after he told her she would have to room with him for her own safety.

Tom smiled and took another step closer to her. "Sharing is caring," he deadpanned with a mocking smirk.

"But-but, I can't share a bed with you!" she proclaimed, absolutely horrified at the thought.

In spite of himself, Tom grew angered at her rejection. "What's the matter," he sneered, "Don't you trust me?"

She had not hesitated in her answer. "About as far as I can throw you," she bit off.

He smirked and nodded his head slowly. "Smart girl," he murmured approvingly, a small smile turning up his lips.

"Thomas, we can think about this logically," she beseeched.

"There's nothing to think about, Hermione. You cannot sleep with the Slytherins, no other house will allow a Slytherin in their common room, and you have absolutely no friends here whatsoever. Besides me, that is," he stated coolly, his smile revealing his perfect white, gleaming teeth.

She narrowed her eyes at him, her right hand twitching as though she could sense he had her trapped by the logic she so religiously adhered to. He could tell she was fighting between her fight or flight instincts. She wanted to run from him, but she was no coward, not his Hermione.

Besides, she was too smart to flee. She knew he'd catch her before she took even three steps away from him. She was his for as long as he willed it and there was no where she could run to escape him. And, there was no escaping his logic. He was right and she knew it.

"No one can know," she whispered, submitting to his will.

He loved her surrender. She was not weak, but compliant, malleable to his will. And, oh, how he wanted to shape her.

"Of course," he graciously conceded.

She claimed the right half of the room and bed, unshrinking her trunk to retrieve her pajamas. It was clear she was ignoring him, hoping that he'd simply disappear if she did not acknowledge him or his sudden good humor.

But Tom would have none of that.

"I'll change in the bathroom and you in here," he stated.

He did not allow her time to protest, but instead he procured his nightclothes and went into the bathroom to change. It was a large room with white marble floors and vaulted ceilings. It was both grand and modest, but Tom did not care for it one way or another. He was too focused on removing his clothes and pulling on his pants and white linen shirt, hurriedly folding his clothes so that he may return to Hermione and perhaps catch her in a state of undress.

As though she had anticipated this, she had quickly disrobed and put on her pajamas and Tom was disappointed that he had not caught her with her skirt literally around her legs.

But something in him softened at the sight of her anxiously tugging at her cotton sleeve; something in him stirred when he saw her mildly sitting on his bed.

_Their_ bed.

Her clothes were modest and not even remotely revealing, but until then Tom had only seen her in white, cotton blouses covered by the ugly gray tunic from the orphanage, and plain black skirts that went just past her knees. There was something so personal about them seeing each other in their night clothes, something slightly vulnerable.

No one had ever seen him in his pajamas, he suddenly realized as he felt her eyes rake him up and down. He should feel naked under her gaze while being loathe to have her see him in his vulnerable state of dress, but all he felt was a nervous flutter in his gut as he watched her climb under the covers before following her himself.

He whispered a soft 'nox' and the lights extinguished. Darkness enveloped the room and they had lain in bed stiffly, as far away from the other as possible. Tom listened to her shift, a little entertained by her drumming fingers and her fast breathing.

She turned restlessly at least a dozen more times before his amusement evaporated and he drawled, "Hermione, pick a spot and lay there."

He heard her huff angrily, but she finally remained still. He listened as her breathing evened and her body relaxed and sleep finally claimed her.

But then she rolled over, throwing an arm over him and snuggling into his chest and suddenly he was aware of every inch of her warm body. He knew every time she took a breath, every time she shifted, and every time she had sighed.

It was a long time before sleep had claimed Tom and he was now paying for it as he sat in the north tower, staring into a crystal ball with heavy lids.

"Focus on the ball's energy. In order to part the veils of time and destiny one must look within oneself; you must focus on your inner power, use it to part the mist," Professor Thompson declared, prowling the room.

He heard a soft snort from across the small round table he sat at and Tom's eyes, which had been drooping shut, flew open to stare at Hermione. Her arms were stubbornly crossed and she was leaning far back into her chair as though to put as much distance in between her and the crystal ball. Her eyes were narrowed slits of chocolate and he could feel her foot tapping on the floor as it hit the table base.

"What do you see that vexes you so?" he couldn't help teasing.

Her eyes snapped to him and Tom quelled his instinct to stir nervously under her sharp glare.

"I see you suffering an unfortunate accident, Thomas, if you don't shut your trap," she fairly growled.

He smiled at her charmingly, causing her to sigh in annoyance and move her eyes to the table once again.

"Tell me, Tom, what has both you and Miss Granger so captivated that you must talk about it, for I do not believe speaking is necessary for our exercise," Professor Thompson said from behind his right shoulder.

Hermione's eyes moved up from the black stain on the table edge to look at her. She managed to stifle the heat of her glare only by reminding herself that her current predicament could be worse.

She could be stuck with that old bat Trelawney.

It helped that Professor Emma Thompson looked absolutely nothing like Trelawney. Her liquid black hair was secured into a tight, no-nonsense bun, and her blue eyes were happy behind metal framed glasses. Her voice was bright and cheery and she had been quite friendly when Hermione introduced herself.

But it seemed to Hermione that she was a bit empty-headed.

"I am merely explaining to Hermione the importance of concentrating, Professor," Tom explained. "I think the reason the mists have not parted for us is her lack of concentration as well as her negative energy."

Professor Thompson beamed down at him. "Such a lovely point, Mr. Riddle, and so very true; five points to Slytherin for your insight. Now Miss Granger, what seems to be your problem? I sense from your aura that you have blocked yourself from your inner gift."

Tom smirked as he watched Hermione struggle not to snap at her. He had learned quickly that Hermione had a stinging retort for every occasion, but she would never use one on someone who did not deserve it.

"I'm sure I do not know, Professor," she ground out, eyes shooting daggers at him.

"I sense that you have the gift, Hermione," she began kindly, taking a seat at their table. She took one of Hermione's hands in hers, causing Hermione to turn away from Tom to face her. As though a switch had been thrown, Professor Thompson's eyes lost their cheerful emptiness and pierced Hermione with a shockingly knowing look. "One would think, my dear, that with your talent you would know a great deal about what the future may bring," she stated.

Tom watched in fascination as Hermione flinched. Her annoyance seemed to evaporate as she looked into the Professor's eyes; instead, she looked wary and concerned. Tom's curiosity peaked when the Professor leaned forwarded and whispered something to Hermione, something that made her close her eyes in a combination of fear and sadness.

He didn't know what she had said, but Tom instantly wanted to kill the meddling woman at that moment. There was something about seeing Hermione threatened and afraid that made his fists curl and his magic spark, ready to attack whoever had endangered his mudblood. He had never wanted to protect anyone but himself before, but now Tom's whole being was pulsating as he struggled not to curse his teacher.

Professor Thompson smiled kindly and patted Hermione's white-knuckled fists, rising to go inspect some other table.

"What did she say?" Tom snapped as soon as the insipid woman was out of hearing range, his sage green eyes darkening in his anger.

Hermione shook her head, focusing her amber eyes on the hollow part of his throat and refusing to meet his gaze.

"You will tell me, Hermione," he hissed, leaning forward in his chair and cocking his head down in an effort to catch her worried eyes.

"It doesn't concern you, Thomas," she bit off.

His eyes narrowed as his anger grew. "What concerns you concerns me, my dear."

Her eyes lifted and finally met his for a total of three seconds before they dropped down again. "Funny you should care so much about me, Thomas. I'm just a mudblood remember?"

"Stop trying to distract me with your pathetic attempt of a diversion," he sneered. "Mudblood or not, you will tell me what was said."

Their gazes clashed once again, Tom's eyes fierce and sparkling, and Hermione's shining just as fiercely and with just as much determination. There was a distant sound of a bell and the faint voice of Professor Thompson dismissing them, and yet neither of them moved or acknowledged it.

Slowly, Hermione began to smile. She rose from her seat and moved to stand behind him, leaning down to whisper into his right ear, "How does it feel to want, Thomas?"

As soon as she was finished speaking she left, leaving Tom sitting dumbly in a bemused mix of anger and arousal.

"Mr. Riddle, is there anything I can help you with?"

Tom snapped out of his stupor. He looked around the empty room and faced Professor Thompson who was standing to his right with a gentle smile.

"No, Professor, I was merely collecting my thoughts," he stated, gathering his belongings and heading down the ladder.

Bloody vixen, he screamed mentally as he walked the halls with arrogant strides in order to catch up with said vixen. While on the surface Tom was angry, he was actually pleasantly surprised beneath that. Hermione had used a combination of Gryffindor courage and Slytherin cunning in that particular run-in, and Tom didn't know quite what to make of it. He had never before had someone stand up to him and refuse to do as he had bid. Never before had he parried with such an interesting mix of foolish courage and subtle cunning.

She truly was unique.

When Tom finally made it to the defense corridor, he found his mudblood vixen standing quite furiously, her eyes flashing, posture rigid, and her wand clasped in her hand. Across from her was Abraxas Malfoy, who was sneering down the tip of his nose at her.

It was obvious words had been exchanged, most likely involving a slur of Hermione's parentage, but there was a serious undertone in the tension that hung between them. This wasn't just a random petty argument.

Lines were being drawn and purposes declared, and it was very clear to Tom that they stood on opposite sides.

"I would be careful if I were you, Granger," Malfoy threatened so softly that Tom almost didn't hear. "The halls are dark at night and you never know what you may run into."

Tom felt his anger prickle. It was obvious that Abraxas did not know he was standing there otherwise the boy would have been smart enough to hold his tongue.

"I can take care of myself, thanks," Hermione said, smilingin false sweetnessas she continued, "your concern for my well being is touching, though, Abraxas."

He saw Malfoy clutching his wand, his hand shaking, and thought it best to intervene.

"Malfoy, go to class before I take away house points," Tom ordered, his voice hard and his expression unyielding.

Both boys knew exactly what he was really saying. _Leave or face my wrath at our next meeting_.

When faced with the wrath of Lord Voldemort, Abraxas backed down. With resentful obedience he went into the defense against the dark arts classroom, glaring murderously at Hermione as he passed her.

"Are you going to tell me what _he_ said at least?" he said pointedly, breaking the tense silence.

Tom was awarded with a distracted smile from Hermione who obliging answered, "You know, Tom, just the usual. I'm not worthy of our noble house, I have dirty blood, and I better sleep with one eye open. Nothing I haven't heard before."

Tom took three steps to her, tilting her head up to him with two fingers. "You've heard such slurs before?"

She smiled bitterly. "I am no stranger to adversity."

She tried to seem nonchalant, but Tom saw through her brave façade. He saw the sadness that lurked in her eyes and the pain that stabbed at her very being. He moved his hand from her chin to her shoulder, his palm rising with every breath she took. "Then why does Malfoy hurt you so?"

"There is someone where I'm from," she said abruptly, her tone distant, "Someone who looks a great deal like Abraxas Malfoy, and reminds me very much of him. This person used to insult me just as Abraxas does, but as time passed, we moved beyond our differences. To see a younger version of him hurl the same insults that once colored his tongue is disconcerting. We have come so far, Abraxas merely reminded me of that."

"I see," he murmured, not because he understood her cryptic answer but more that he felt he ought to say something.

"Do you, Thomas?" she abruptly fixed him with a knowing glare. "I know what you're doing; I'm no simpleton."

"And just what am I doing, pray tell?" he smirked condescendingly.

"You're using your influence as Head Boy to stop the others from hexing me," she claimed smartly. "And I do appreciate it, Thomas, but you know it won't work forever. That thing with Abraxas was nothing. Eventually they won't be satisfied with words and it'll move to cursing and hexing, and there will be nothing you can do then."

He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "I know," he whispered, his hand tightening on her shoulder.

"I wonder what you'll do then, Tom. Who will you stand with then?"

He thought over her question. "I don't know."

She smiled softly. "I suppose that's enough."

It was more than enough in his opinion. He had only known her for three months, and already he was no longer certain where he stood anymore. If she had asked him one month ago he would not have hesitated in his answer. He would stand alone, on no one's side but his own, and he would have approved of his followers hexing her. She was certainly annoyingly smart, and she was dirty blood.

But now he was not so sure. Tom still craved for power and fearful respect; he still yearned to purge the world of the unworthy, dirty blood imposters. Now, though, he was considering saving a mudblood. Perhaps when he gained his rightful place, he would spare her. Hermione made his life more interesting and took away the monotone quality his days had gained.

Yes, he would spare her when the time came if she continued to intrigue him. His very own mystery to keep him guessing, Tom knew that he would never truly know all of her secrets.

Maybe that was why he found her so refreshing and so captivating. He had the sneaking suspicion that he could spend years in her company and still never truly know her.

"We should go in; class will be starting," she broke his reverie.

"Yes," he allowed. "This class certainly can't be any worse than divination, eh?"

He was awarded with Hermione's laughter, and Tom himself allowed a small smile to cross his lips. His hand slid from her shoulder to fall around her waist and he steered her into the room, not caring about the glares his fellow classmates were sending him or the curious looks that lingered on his arm around her.

Hermione was smiling, and for Tom, that was all that matteredat the moment.

(A/N): Don't worry, you'll find out what Professor Thompson told Hermione in the next chapter…but Tom won't!


	9. A Little Hiccup

(A/N): Oh goodness, another update so soon- I hope I'm not spoiling you! I wrote this literally just after posting chapter 8, and I couldn't wait to put it up! Consequently, I have not edited it as thoroughly as I ought to have, but somehow I don't think you'll mind! Enjoy!

_CARPE DIEM, Chapter 9_

Tom had been right as it turned out; Hermione found their Defense Against the Dark Arts class to be a great deal better than divination. As luck would have it, all of her classes were more tolerable than divination.

And in true Hermione fashion, she lost herself in her studies. Classes went by and turned into full days, and those days turned into weeks. Before she knew it, October was two days around the corner and she had spent almost a full month eating, living and sleeping with Tom Riddle.

Much like their time in the orphanage, Hermione and Tom found themselves falling into a routine. They woke early, went to classes, studied in the far corner in the library that only the most dedicated Ravenclaws every ventured to, and they ate dinner, leaving early to hole themselves up in Tom's room. During their self-imposed imprisonment in their room, they would play chess (Tom letting Hermione win every third game or so) and finish up any homework they had yet to complete, and Hermione would tend to her little garden snake, cooing and whispering things that only little Lu would hear. When the hour grew late and sleep began to pull, Tom would leave to change in the bathroom, and Hermione would quickly change in the room. More often than not she would already be under the covers when he came back from the bathroom, feigning sleep.

Tom would always smirk when he saw her laying there with her eyes closed and her breathing almost perfectly even. With lingering amusement he would pull back the covers and slip silently in beside her, his lips twitching as he felt her body tense at his presence. She would always relax after about twenty minutes or so, rolling into a more comfortable position before allowing sleep to claim her.

And then she would wake up to find his arms wrapped securely round her waist and her head resting on his chest, rising and falling with each breath he took, and Professor Thompson's words echoing in her mind as her dream faded. The situation wouldn't be half so vexing if Tom wasn't always awake before she was, waiting for her to look up at him with that now familiar smirk already curling his thin lips. She wouldn't put it past him to arrange them to be so intimately entwined for when she woke up, but Hermione had a sneaking suspicion that their morning snuggles were not his doing and was actually her rolling over onto him while lost in her phantom dreams.

The git wouldn't be as full of himself if it were him arranging their limbs.

Then their day would start again. There had been a few glitches in their routine, though, mainly Abraxas and the other Slytherins insulting her at every turn as they slowly began to reach the end of their patience with her, and Minerva McGonagall.

Hermione smiled ironically. The girl that would grow into the formidable transfiguration teacher of her time was somewhat of an obstacle for her presently. She was tall and thin, with black hair that fell in shiny waves down her back, and smart hazel eyes; basically, she was nothing like Hermione pictured her Head of House would be.

While Minerva had been quick to introduce herself to the new student, it had been quite clear that she did not particularly care for Hermione. She had been forcefully polite, offering to show her around the castle and claiming that her door would always be open if she had a problem.

It was obvious that she did not want to be friends, though. Hermione sighed sadly as she sat at her desk in her arithmancy classroom. The one person she had been eager to meet, hopeful to befriend, and she wouldn't voluntarily go anywhere near her.

And the fact that she constantly had to hide in Tom's room so as to avoid an embarrassing run in with Minerva in her common room didn't help matters.

Hermione began to massage her temples as she felt another headache coming on. Her head seemed to be hurting her the more she thought on her precarious predicament, which was more often than not.

"You really need to get a potion for your head, Hermione," Tom muttered, not even glancing up from his parchment where he was working through the problem Professor White had placed on the board.

"I know," she sighed, beginning the equation herself.

"You always seem to have a headache," he persisted.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Aren't you observant?"

She saw Tom smirk out of the corner of her eye, but he thankfully refrained from retorting. Hermione was half way through the problem when the door opened and Albus Dumbledore poked his head through.

"So sorry, Professor, but might I have a word with Miss Granger?" he smiled at the gray-haired lady.

White smiled. "Of course, Albus," she waved at Hermione to leave.

Frowning, Hermione rose from her seat, glancing nervously at Tom whose eyes burned into hers. She looked back at Albus, but his small smile revealed nothing.

Ignoring the curious stares, Hermione followed Albus out of the room and down the hall. He led her in silence to the transfiguration room, and then back into his private office. His teaching office was nothing like the majesty that his office as Headmaster was, but there was something oddly comforting about baby Fawkes on his perch and the candy dish filled with sherbet lemons.

"What is it, Albus?" she asked as she sat across from his oak desk that was littered with papers and files.

"I'm afraid we've run into a little hiccup in our plan, Hermione," he began, thoughtfully stroking his beard.

Confusion puckered her brow. "What's wrong, Albus. Please, just tell me."

Albus sighed, and the twinkle in his eyes diminished. "There's been an unforeseen problem with your back story."

Fear tightened around her heart. "What?"

"Hermione, you of all people should know how fast stories are exaggerated and spread. We told the students that you were hiding from Grindelwald, but now the dark wizard in question is wondering why a girl he has never heard of is running from him."

"Wh-what?" she gasped, horror filling her.

"I'm sure you understand the part I play in this current war of ours. A very reliable source has brought information that leads me to believe that your presence here has been noted by Grindelwald," he sadly informed her.

Her heart began to race and her hands tightened on the arms of her chair. "How?"

Albus gave a half-hearted smile, "From the students, of course. You have to understand, Hermione, that Hogwarts has never had a student such as you; therefore it is natural for students to write their parents about it. It is my guess that some student wrote to their parents and from there your story was leaked."

"And now…Grindelwald- what? He wants to know why I supposedly fled from him?"

"If it were only that simple," he murmured.

"Merlin, Albus, what kind of a hole have I dug for myself?" she asked in horror.

Albus smiled wearily. "Worst case scenario is that he'll come here himself."

Hermione frowned. "And the best?" she inquired hopefully.

Albus was silent for a moment. "The best is that he'll only send a few of his followers here to retrieve you."

Her heart leapt into her throat. "That's hardly better than the former, Albus!" she screeched.

His eyes were sad as he looked over his silver frames at her. "I know, my dear."

"What are we going to do? I have enough trouble with one evil wizard, I don't need another!" she wailed.

"Please, remain calm, Hermione. We can be fairly certain that nothing will happen before the Christmas holidays; my sources say that Grindelwald currently has his hands full with the French Ministry. You are nothing more than a passing thought."

"For now," Hermione snorted.

He nodded. "Yes, for now."

Hermione left quickly after that, not really knowing what to say. Fear and anger pounded throughout here whole body, and tears were welling up in her eyes. She didn't pay much attention to where her feet were leading her to, but somehow she was not surprised when she found herself in the library heading to the study room she, Lucius, and Severus had often claimed.

With shaking hands, Hermione closed the door and spun around to face the empty room. She saw Severus leaning against the wall with a book in hand and Lucius sitting at his chair, twirling his cane thoughtfully, but when she blinked, they were gone.

Never had she felt so alone until that moment. Never had she felt so far away from home. The past few months had not been easy, but they had been bearable. Tom had made them bearable.

But now her routine was broken, and there was nothing she could do to fix it. Hermione gave a stifled sob. She had some dark wizard intent on finding her and whatever secret she supposedly kept from him, and here she was, alone in a room on the verge of tears because her _routine_ was broken.

She was pathetic.

With a shaking hand, Hermione scrubbed away her tears, but new ones took their place. It wouldn't be so bad if Ron and Harry were there with her. She would be able to face anything with them; a dark wizard after them wouldn't be anything new, after all. In fact, her current problem was all the more unbearable because of its familiarity.

But this time was different. She didn't have Harry and Ron by her side, or Lucius and Severus hiding under invisibility cloaks behind her.

No, she had to face this alone.

And the moment she had been stalling, the emotions she had been repressing flooded her. The sobs rose up from her gut to choke her, and Hermione collapsed in the chair Lucius should have been sitting in, crying even though she was alone and no one could hear her.

She could almost smell Lucius's expensive cologne still hovering in the air. Almost.

Hermione was still crying when Tom found her.

When Hermione had not returned to their class, Tom was not overly worried. When she remained absent for charms, he began to fidget, constantly drumming his fingers against his desk while constantly shooting anxious glances at the door. But he was not worried. No, it wasn't until dinner had rolled around and she still did not show up that Tom began to fret.

He ditched dinner and went in search of her. She was surprisingly easy to find, actually. His first stop had been the library, and he had walked all the way to the back and to the room they often locked themselves in to do homework.

It was there that he found her, eyes staring at nothing and tears staining her cheeks.

"Hermione?" he asked softly, slowly closing the door behind him.

She didn't turn to him or acknowledge his presence. When she spoke, Tom was struck at how certain and dead her voice was.

"It's never enough, is it, Tom?" she whispered brokenly.

Tom froze halfway to her. What should he say? What _could_ he say to that? But she wasn't really expecting him to answer.

"No matter what I do or where I go, it'll never be enough."

Tom swallowed nervously. He had seen and done many things in his seventeen years. He had been in the Chamber of Secrets, he had seen a basilisk, he had inadvertently killed a girl, and just last summer he had murdered his last living relatives. But Tom suddenly thought that he had experienced nothing compared to what was haunting the girl before him.

"What is it, Hermione? What is wrong?" he took the last three steps to her, but hesitated to touch her.

Her lip quivered. "What _isn't_ wrong? None of this is supposed to happen. He's not supposed to hear about me…"

An inane sense of premonition gripped him. "Who Hermione?" he asked more forcefully than he intended to.

She moved to face him and the utterly lost look in her eyes twisted his gut and enflamed his anger. "Grindelwald," she answered.

"He knows you're here?" he shot back, all business.

"How can he not?" she moaned bitterly.

"He is coming for you?" he asked insistently.

She sniffled. "Him or his goons," she confirmed. "Either way, he'll find me."

Tom clenched his jaw, struggling against the fear the settled in his stomach at the thought of Hermione in danger. "Hogwarts is safe, though. He won't get you."

Hermione's laugh turned into a sob. "It doesn't matter. He'll find a way; they always find a way. I'm not safe here. I'm not safe anywhere. There's no one to protect me anymore; I have to face him alone."

Tom turned from her, furious at her words and the world in general. He paced the room, his mind working feverishly. He recalled his first encounter with her and the first and only time he had verbally called her a mudblood. He saw her standing in the cave he had often tortured the other orphans in, dripping wet in that navy blue swimsuit that revealed toned legs and ample curves. As though it had happened yesterday, Tom felt anger rise in him at the thought of Billy Stubbs striking her and threatening her.

And he saw Hermione holding that insufferable pet of hers, her small hands dancing across light green scales as his eyes followed their every move. He felt her body pressing innocently against him, seeking warmth and comfort as she dreamed.

_Snake charmer_, the words drifted through his mind. _Snake but not snake; one of us, but something more_…

"You foolish girl," he pivoted back to her. "You are not alone."

She looked up from the floor and fixed him with a flabbergasted gaze. "Tom?" her voice quivered.

He went to her, gripping her shoulders hard enough to leave bruises. "Do you trust me, Hermione?"

He had asked her this before, mostly teasing, but there was something desperate about his air. There was something in his eyes that pulled at Hermione, urging her to answer in the affirmative. But did she trust him? This was the young man that would murder her best friend's parents, a man that would grow into the most powerful dark wizard ever known.

Could she trust such a man?

The words Professor Thompson had whispered to her drifted across her mind.

_While the future is unstoppable, it has yet to happen…not everyone are as they seem…_

Tom was not asking if she trusted the creature he would become, but if she trusted the man he was currently. And who was he exactly? Tom Riddle was annoying, brilliant, mean, and handsome. He was a man that had rescued her from Billy Stubbs and a man that had tucked her away from the other Slytherins that wanted only to harm her. He had done nothing but protect her since that day in the garden, she realized.

Perhaps she wasn't as alone as she had thought.

"Yes," she whispered hoarsely.

Tom licked his lips. She had just place a large amount of faith in him in a gesture no one had ever bestowed upon him before. In that moment he could make or break her. He could literally destroy her with a single word.

But that would serve no purpose.

"Good. Stay in the room tonight, Hermione. Whatever you do, do not leave the room. Do you understand?" he ordered.

"Tom, what-?"

He cut her off before she could start a long line of questioning. "Hermione, you just said that you trusted me. Prove it to me by not asking the questions I know are buzzing around your mind; prove it to me by promising to remain in our dorm tonight."

Hermione swallowed. "I promise, Thomas."

He let out his breath, not even realizing he had been holding it in. He made his way to the door, turning back as he said, "Just trust me, Hermione. Trust me and don't wait up."

And he left the room.

Tom marched through the halls filled with a new purpose. He first went to the Great Hall, but who he was looking for had already left. Turning in the opposite direction, Tom went to the common room where he found Abraxas Malfoy lounging in one of the black leather chairs with Orion Black and Cynthia Rosier sitting across from him.

With a sneer, Tom stalked over to them, rudely interrupting their conversation. "Gather the others," he ordered briskly. "The Death Eaters are meeting tonight."

For the first time since school began, Abraxas Malfoy smiled at him, his eyes gleaming in barely suppressed excitement.

"As you wish, my lord."


	10. Something

(A/N): AH! YOU GUYS ARE GONNA HATE ME AFTER YOU READ THIS! Perhaps if you review fast enough, I'll update sooner! Lalalalala!

_CARPE DIEM_

_Chapter 10_

"Silence."

He had not raised his voice, but his command carried to every corner of the room and the curious whispers immediately ceased in response.

Tom smirked. Such obedience had taken many years for him to obtain from his followers. When he had first started Hogwarts, he had been a spoiled bully, quickly learning that he was not welcome in his rightful house. The surname Riddle was not so much unlike Granger, after all, in that it was easily recognized as a filthy muggle name. He had spent his first two years learning deadly curses that he then proceeded to use on his classmates as much as possible. Tom found that dark magic came unusually easy to him, and with his demonstrations he had gained a grudging respect from the Slytherins.

His third and fourth years were spent exploring his lineage. He had always known that he was different from the other children, different than his fellow wizards.

It was in his fifth year when he learned just out how different. A direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin, he was destined for great things, and when he discovered the Chamber of Secrets, he realized how great.

He would follow in Salazar's steps. Tom would shed his muggle name and become Lord Voldemort, the most powerful dark wizard ever since Salazar Slytherin himself.

With that goal in mind, Tom began to take the necessary steps to ensure his destiny. With cold calculation and a hard heart, he removed certain obstacles that blocked him from his path. His father and his grandparents had been particularly satisfying to remove. He had felt vindicated as they pleaded for their lives. The look in their eyes as they begged him was what his sweetest dreams were made of. And that moment of realization, the second they realized that it was all their own doing, that there was nothing they could do or say to change the fact that he was going to kill them, that was when Tom first became Lord Voldemort.

He had killed because it had been necessary, but nothing could change the fact that he had enjoyed it. He had enjoyed it immensely.

The Gaunts were next. Then there was poor little Myrtle, who had been an accident, sure, but had spread the word of his power amongst the Slytherins. Death, Tom concluded, whether accidental or planned, was a very convenient means to his purpose. With one murder after the other, Tom had removed and overcome every obstacle set in his path.

Now he had one more problem to take care of, by any means necessary.

"It has come to my attention that Grindelwald will be making his way here," he began quietly, slowly stalking around the room and fixing each person in his inner circle with a steely glare. "Now I don't suppose anyone would know why he would come to our humble school, do you?" he stopped his leisurely walk in front of Abraxas Malfoy, lifting a brow in question.

Tom watched in amusement as Abraxas's throat bobbed nervously. "To settle unfinished business?" he offered, his silver eyes hard and a tiny smirk curling his lips.

Tom glared at him, knowing that Malfoy had reached the correct conclusion about the dark wizard coming for Hermione. There was no doubt in Tom's mind that the situation suited Malfoy just fine and that the wizard would drag his designer clad heels at the mere thought of helping her.

A tiny smirk of his own blossomed across Tom's face. Little Malfoy had grown insolent as of late and it was time for Tom to remind the boy of his place.

"Abraxas, for once, is correct in his assumptions. Grindelwald has decided that he will visit our resident mudblood," laughter met this statement and Tom smiled indulgently. "Do any of you have a problem with Mr. Grindelwald's plan?" As predicted, no one did.

Abruptly, Tom's easy going attitude evaporated. "Well I do!" he roared, all chuckles immediately ceasing. Bringing his voice down a few octaves, Tom continued talking as he began to roam the room once again. "I know, my friends, that many of you have been questioning my interest in the mudblood. Many of you would call me a blood traitor; you would accuse me of supporting the very thing we have fought so hard against. Do you know what I have to say to those who think such thoughts?"

No one moved to answer his rhetorical question.

Tom found himself in front of Abraxas again. "It is not your place to question me," his eyes bored into Malfoy's. "Not all battles are fought with magic. There are ways to ensure a mudblood suffers, ways that are beyond your sphere of comprehension." Tom turned his back on Malfoy again, his voice velvet over steel as he hissed, "Slytherin admired cunning, subtlety. You have all disgraced your house in your lack of these traits when addressing the mudblood. I have fashioned a plan to ensnare her trust, win her love. By the end of the year I will have her wearing my mark, the same mark that claims you all, fighting against her own kind. And when she no longer amuses me, I will dispose of her after making sure she understands how I have used and manipulated her. Is there anyone here that foresees a problem with my plan?"

Tom looked around the room and where before he had seen resentment staring back at him, he now saw understanding and awe. Inwardly, he sneered at their newfound admiration. They were nothing more than sheep, so willing to believe any lie that rolled off his tongue as long as he twisted it to their righteous cause.

"No one?" he turned back to Malfoy again, tilting his head slightly.

Abraxas held his eyes for a moment before lowering them to the floor between them. "How could anyone argue with such brilliance?" he murmured.

Tom narrowed his eyes, studying him while trying to decide if he was being facetious. Deciding that he would have his fun with him soon enough, Tom sneered, "How can I proceed with this plan if she is dead, Abraxas? Grindelwald has grown too strong and he now stands in the way of my plans, _our_ plans. He must be removed from power so that we may succeed; he must not get the mudblood. Do any of you disagree?"

"You want us to protect the mudblood?" Abraxas clarified disgustedly.

A chilling smile crept slowly across his thin lips. He _knew_ Malfoy would drag his heels; he'd been counting on it.

And now he would put Abraxas Malfoy into his place. A lesson needed to be taught. Lord Voldemort was not to be questioned. His word was law.

Tom had always been fond of the Cruciatus Curse. There was something about never ending pain at a simple word that Tom found deliciously ironic. Then there were the screams. He'd have the world at his feet by murmuring a single word, and the world will beg and scream for mercy, but he would spare none.

He would start with Abraxas Malfoy.

His wand was out and the curse was cast before anyone could speak. Abraxas was huddled on the floor, desperately trying to bite back his screams. He broke in the end, though, as they always did. Tom had an unusual gift when it came to the Cruciatus Curse.

Abraxas's screams roared in his ears and bounced off of the walls in sweet notes of a bitter song. Tom smiled. His followers shuddered. It was the longest they had seen him hold the curse on any person. Minutes seemed to tick by in agonizing slowness as they watched their lord hold Malfoy suspended in torture. Would he stop? Certainly someone, a student or teacher walking by, would hear those terrible, haunting screams.

No one outside the room could hear, however. Tom was in a room that gave a person what they required and Tom found himself requiring a sound proof room that would cover up his use of an extremely unforgivable curse.

Finally, he released Malfoy, but Abraxas's shrieking echoed loudly in the room, making Tom's ears ring.

"Yes," Tom hissed down at Malfoy's convulsing body. "We are to protect the mudblood." He turned back to the room and asked passively, "Any objections?"

He did not have to command silence in order to get it this time which, Tom thought snidely as he dismissed his followers, was exactly how it should be.

Each black robed figure swept into a bow at his feet before exiting, leaving Tom alone in the Room of Requirement with Abraxas Malfoy trembling on the floor. As the door clicked shut behind Orion Black, Tom pivoted on his right foot to stare down at Malfoy.

"Such a pity," he sighed, using his booted foot to push Malfoy onto his back.

Abraxas Malfoy twitched before him, his eyes still managing to maintain their arrogant gleam even as tears fell from them.

"Perhaps now you will remember your place, loyal servant," he removed his foot from Abraxas's chest, but his sneer never left his face. "I have been lenient with you, friend," he spat the word 'friend' as though it left a foul taste on his tongue. "You owe me your gratitude for my pity."

Anger raged in Malfoy's stormy eyes and hatred sparked liked lightening bolts. Tom was surprised, though, to find the hatred was not directed at him. Indeed, Malfoy seemed to be sneering _with_ Tom, not at him, almost as though being cursed into oblivion had been a part of whatever scheme he had been concocting. But the anger and hatred still bloomed, and it was with a slight jolt of fear that he realized just who it was directed at.

He may have regained Malfoy as a follower in his highest ranks, but he had also given Hermione a new enemy. In this meeting called to protect Hermione, he had actually presented Malfoy with exactly what he had wanted: a real reason for wanting her dead.

"Thank you, my lord."

Tom had a sneaking suspicion that Malfoy was not thanking him for his mercy.

Scowling, Tom swept out of the room with his jaw clenched tight in black anger.

_You imbecile_, he mentally berated himself as he quickly walked back to his dorm. _You poor, hapless fool_.

He should have known better. There would be dissension in the ranks now. The Malfoy name still held some sway in the Slytherin common room. All it would take was a few whispers, ideas being seeded into the right people's mind. It would take some patient nurturing, but the seeds would sprout. Their roots would be tangled and deep in the minds of the unfaithful, the traitors that would join Malfoy. Tom was looking at a possible mutiny.

He should have let the bloody wizard come and take Hermione. She was the real problem. Not Malfoy, and certainly not himself. Hermione with her muddied blood, her smiling eyes, and her small hands that always seemed to be caressing that godforsaken snake.

He hated her. She was nothing to him.

And yet at the back of his thoughts he heard a small voice hissing, _Snake but not snake; one of us but something more_…

_Something, something, something, something…_the word bounced around in his head, increasing in volume.

His scowl deepened and his pace quickened. _Nothing, she is nothing_, he thought furiously, repeating it over and over again as though the mantra would drown out the little voice that insisted _something more, something, something…_

By the time he found himself in front of the portrait of Helga Hufflepuff, Tom's head was throbbing painfully as the two words fought each other for supremacy.

_Something, nothing, something, nothing_…

"Carpe diem," he growled.

Helga sniffed at his rudeness, swinging open and snubbing him by forgoing her usual chirpy greeting. Tom failed to notice, however. He was currently preoccupied with his ringing headache and his sudden and uncharacteristic bout of conscience.

He ignored Minerva, who sat in front of the fire with her transfiguration text staring at her, and went straight up the stairs and into his room. Pushing the voices down with sheer will power, Tom walked in.

And promptly froze.

Tom's first thought while walking into the dorm for the past month had always been a faint hope to catch his roommate in a state of undress. He had planned and schemed, but had never managed to catch his mudblood without her robes on. She had always seemed to anticipate his every move and intention, managing to thwart his plot.

In fact, it had become somewhat of a game between the two of them. Tom dressing as quickly as possible in the bathroom, while Hermione simply spelled her pajamas on and slipped under the covers. Tom would walk briskly out of the bathroom, each time a little faster than the night before. His eyes would immediately go to her, and Hermione would fight a smile while she feigned sleep as Tom merely smirked, crawling into bed beside her.

It was like an elegant dance, Tom leaning in, but Hermione stepping back so that they wouldn't collide. Tom was beginning to accept the fact that he would never catch Hermione in such a vulnerable state, but every night, he still had that faint hope, the thought that maybe _that_ night would be _the_ night.

And on this night, the first night that catching Hermione undressing was the very last thought on his troubled mind, was the night he got his wish.

She hadn't heard him come in, a fact for which Tom was eternally grateful. Her back was to him and her arms were stretched high above her head, removing her undershirt. Tom watched in fascinated silence as the muscles on her back rippled, her skin looking like golden honey in candlelight that gleamed on her naked back.

A picture flashed in Tom's mind of him standing beside her, his thin, pale fingers lightly tracing invisible patterns up and down her spine, causing her to shiver in his arms.

Unbidden, Tom took a step to her, his arm lifting as though to caress her smooth skin the same way her fingers danced across the scales of her snake. His vision blurred, and Hermione seemed to stand out in sharp relief in the room. He couldn't control his right arm that slowly connected to her shoulder, grazing the sensitive skin of her back from shoulder to waist.

She shivered, just as he knew she would.

But then Hermione jumped, startled by the fact that she was not alone. Tom's mind cleared as Hermione clutched her shirt tightly to her chest, cheeks tinged pink and eyes glaring at him in anger.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," she hissed furiously. "Just what do you think you are doing?"

She was gorgeous in her anger. His breath seemed to catch as he looked at her, committing every small detail to memory so as to never forget how perfect she was at that moment in time. She had been crying, he realized. Her pink cheeks still had the wet footprints of her tears and her eyes appeared brighter than normal, like liquid amber. Her hair was frizzing out of the bun she had secured it in, a few long wisps touching her shoulders.

In all her righteous glory, she stood before him like some avenging goddess whose eyes pierced him to his very being.

Tom blinked and swallowed hard to regain his composure. When he opened his eyes again, Hermione was fully clad in her white, cotton pajamas, standing with her hands on her hips and foot tapping, obviously waiting for his response.

Smirking, Tom stated, "It's not my fault you didn't hear me come in."

Hermione's jaw tightened. "Haven't you heard of knocking?"

He smiled, unconcerned by her anger. "Why should I knock, it is my room, after all."

"It's called common courtesy, Thomas!"

Tom snorted, finally moving back from her to gather his night clothes. "You have never been surprised by my lack of courtesy before, so why start now, Hermione?"

She gaped at him. "You are such a prat, Tom."

But he saw her lips quirking, saw the fire fade slightly from her eyes as amusement took its place.

"You should be flattered, Hermione," Tom went on to say, smiling as she began to sputter.

"Flattered? Of all the pompous, egotistical things you could say! I should hex you right now!"

Tom was in front of her in a second, his pajamas lying forgotten on the floor. "Then why don't you, Hermione."

She bit her lip and took a small step back from him so that she could breathe. "Don't tempt me," she whispered, her voice not as strong as she had hoped.

Tom smirked and advanced to her again, his body nearly touching hers. "Do I tempt you, Hermione?"

He watched as she swallowed nervously, taking another step back while bumping into the wall. He knew the moment she realized that there was no escape, that when he took one more step forward he would essentially have her pinned against the wall. Smiling victoriously, Tom took the final step to her, placing each hand on either side of her head.

"Do I, Hermione?" he murmured, lowering his head to whisper in her ear.

She shivered again, whether from his closeness or from his breath tickling her hair, he did not know.

Bravely, she tilted her head up to meet his gaze. His eyes seemed darker than usual, no longer light sage green, but a darker, more intense forest green shade. His eyes reminded her of the trees in the forbidden forest at night, green almost to the point of being black.

The mood shifted in the room, no longer teasing or confrontational. Idly, Tom twirled a lock of her hair in his fingers as he patiently awaited her response.

Hermione leaned forward, surprising Tom when her body grazed his. Licking her lips, she asked, "Where were you tonight, Tom?"

Tom blinked, his right hand stilling in her hair. "I was out doing what I am always forced to do," he declared.

"And what is that?" she asked.

Tom sneered at her as he said, "To protect you, little Hermione."

Hermione shook her head slightly in an effort to clear it. "Why do you always protect me, Thomas? I'm just a mudblood. I am nothing to you."

_Nothing_, the word reverberated in his mind. _Nothing, nothing, nothing_…

And yet a silky hiss whispered softly in the background, _something_.

_Snake but not snake; one of us but something more_…

Slowly, Tom leaned forward.

_Mudblood, mudblood, mudblood…She is nothing, nothing, nothing…_

_Nothing_, he thought, even as his lips pressed against hers, softly at first, but more firmly as his resolution grew.

_She is nothing_…

After a few moments of shock, Hermione's arms crept up to encircle his neck and she began to kiss him back, taking his breath away at her tenderness.

_Something_…


	11. More Questions

(A/N): I know I should edit this before posting, but something told me you all would probably like this up ASAP….Let me know what you think of this chapter, I admit, it was a little tough to get it started at the beginning so your feedback would be much appreciated.

(A/N): I went back to edit a few minor spelling errors, and fixed an incorrect spell Hermione uses, but nothing plot relevant has changed...enjoy again!

_CARPE DIEM_

_Chapter 11_

Hermione found it strange that someone so cold, literally and figuratively, could flood her body with warmth, but that was exactly what Tom Riddle's lips upon hers was doing to her.

Hermione Granger was not a damsel in distress type of girl. She was a very capable young woman who did not have the patience to sit away in a tower while waiting to be rescued by some knight in shinning armor.

She could very well rescue herself, thank you.

But as she had waited impatiently for Tom to return from wherever it was he had gone, Hermione had felt completely useless. She was not one to sit idly by, twiddling her thumbs while others rushed off to fight the good fight. But each time she had moved to the door, Thomas's urgent voice would echo in her mind. _"Do you trust me, Hermione? Stay in the room tonight, Hermione. Whatever you do, do not leave the room."_

She had nearly torn out her hair in frustration as she paced their room. What could he possibly be doing that required her to remain hidden away?

Hermione had taken turns between crying, throwing pillows, and growling in anger at poor Lu who was currently coiled up around one of the candles. After forty minutes of reckless pacing, Hermione was able to calm down and think about her predicament logically. It was then that she was able to realize just why Tom would want her to hide away in their room.

He was meeting with his Death Eaters.

The thought was not as disconcerting as it should have been. Some part of her had always known they would meet eventually. Tom had already fashioned himself a new name and destiny, and she hardly expected him to suddenly become some sort of angel now that she was there.

A hysterical giggle had broken through at the thought of Tom with white wings and a glowing halo. No, he most certainly was not an angel.

But then why the sudden meeting? What was it about Grindelwald coming for her that spurred Tom into action?

"_You foolish girl…you are not alone,"_ he had softly said to her.

And yet she had sat perched on the foot of the bed they shared, completely and utterly alone.

There was no use trying to figure out Tom's motive for meeting with the Death Eaters; she'd simply have to resolve herself into confronting him about it when he got back.

With that decided, Hermione had risen from the bed to change into her night clothes. It had been a long day and she could at least attempt to relax and sleep.

She hadn't heard the door open.

She hadn't heard Tom crossing the room to stand behind her.

She hadn't been prepared for his flirting, teasing questions.

And, she hadn't been prepared for the feel of his lips pressed against hers.

His lips were smooth and cold against her warmth, insistent without forcing. Tom kissed her with an understated demand that she respond to him. Her arms went unbidden around his neck in response to his silent command, and Hermione found herself kissing Tom Marvolo Riddle for the first time.

Her skin should have been crawling in disgust and her body should have turned hot in anger. And while her skin did crawl and her body did heat up, Hermione did not feel disgust or anger.

Because a part of her had always known that there was something more to her and Tom Riddle. They had been strange allies while at the orphanage, partners and almost friends when they came to school. But there had always been something deeper to their silent companionship. It had only been a matter of time.

So when Tom's icy fingers lightly grazed up her sides from under her shirt, Hermione did not shiver in repulsion. When she felt her heart racing and her blood pounding in her ears, it was not from fear. _This was what they had been meant for_, a little voice insisted in her mind, _they weren't meant to be allies or colleagues, and not just friends_.

But something more.

Hermione had kissed a total of three boys in her life, not counting the sisterly pecks she had exchanged with Harry. She had kissed Viktor Krum after their date at the Yule Ball, Dean Thomas under mistletoe just last year, and she had kissed Ron when they still thought they could be more than just friends. And while each experience had not been unpleasant, although it had been rather awkward with Ron, Hermione had never felt such a strong desire to be with any one person before.

And the fact that he was losing himself in her as she was in him made the experience all the more exhilarating. It wasn't love, but it wasn't just lust. It was want, a need. She wanted to drown herself in him. She needed his arms to encircle her waist and hold her near him.

His very scent was intoxicating and his presence was like a drug. If Hermione didn't know any better, she would have thought she was under some sort of spell, which, she would reflect later, was somewhat true.

Seconds ticked by as they remained locked in their embrace. Need, want, and lust swirled around her befuddled head until another emotion began to peak through the haze of desire.

Guilt.

It wasn't just Tom Riddle who she was kissing, but Lord Voldemort recently returned from a meeting with his Death Eaters.

This was Lord Voldemort who had murdered her best friend's parents and countless others. The same Lord Voldemort who in fifty-four years time would order Severus Snape to watch her, to protect her.

Hermione wrenched herself away from his embrace as though his cold lips had burned her. Seconds passed in which they merely stared at each other, their chests hitching and their hearts pounding.

She had never seen Tom look so disarrayed. Even when he was in his nightclothes and climbing into bed, every strand of hair was in its proper place and his shirt and pants were neatly pressed. Staring at him now, though, she almost didn't recognize him. His hair stood up on end from where she had run her fingers through it, looking much like Harry's sloppy mop of hair. His normally pale cheeks were flushed lightly and his lips were fuller, redder from her kisses. His school robe was wrinkled from where she had clutched to him, and his eyes were swirling with emotions.

Taking in a shaky breath, Hermione broke their silence.

"Why did you do that?" she asked softly, trying to ignore how her voice quivered.

Tom cocked his head to the side, fixing her with a look that clearly stated he thought she was being quite daft. "Because I wanted to," he murmured silkily.

Confusion puckered her brow. "But, you can't have," she stuttered.

He smirked at her, his hand stretching out to graze her hair. His smirk widened into what might have been a fond smile when she flinched at his touch. "But I did."

Hermione bit her lip. This wasn't supposed to happen, not at all. "What are you playing at?"

He approached her so casually that she didn't even realize he had moved until she was forced to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. "You think this is a game?" he asked mildly, his right hand idly twirling a lock of her hair.

Hermione fought to remain calm. She wouldn't pull away and show weakness; not in front of him. "Isn't it?" she countered.

Tom shook his head in the manner of a disapproving father. "Hermione, I think you and I both know that this is no game."

He was too close. She could feel his robe brushing against her pajamas and his breath tickling her hair. When he spoke, she could almost feel the rumble in his chest against hers.

The room seemed stifling suddenly. Her cheeks were heating up in a telling blush, and the air around them was thick with the undercurrents of many conflicting emotions that seemed to radiate off of both of them. Fear, lust, want, need, desire, a promise of what was to come, of what they could be together…

And then there was guilt.

Focusing on her guilt, Hermione stepped back from him. She needed to get away, to think. He was too close to her right now and her mind scattered every time his thin, pale hand touched her.

"I have to go," she said abruptly, twirling around and grabbing her black robe and throwing it on over her pajamas.

She practically ran to the door, stopping to look back at him for some unknown reason. He stood by the window, his hair tousled, his lips swollen, and his eyes gleaming. She watched in fascination as he stretched out his arm to the table and Lu, her little garden snake, slithered away from his candle to wrap around his wrist.

"I have to go," she said again, trying to fill the empty void between them.

Tom smirked. "Then go," he replied casually.

She turned and left without looking back.

Hermione let her feet lead her while her mind argued and screamed at her. What had she been thinking? Kissing Thomas- kissing a young Lord Voldemort?

_He kissed me_, she wailed plaintively in her own defense.

_Doesn't matter_, a voice that sounded eerily like Ron stated, _you still kissed him back_.

"I didn't mean to," she said aloud to herself as she walked the halls.

_But you did_, Harry whispered to her.

Oh, gods, she did.

_And you want to do it again_, Lucius pointed out.

Oh yes, she did want to kiss him again.

_You're starting to feel for him_, Severus sneered in disgust.

Hermione walked faster, trying to ignore the feelings of guilt and fear. But no matter how fast she walked, there was no escaping the truth.

He initiated their kiss, but she did kiss him back even though she didn't mean to. She did want to feel his smooth lips on hers again.

She was starting to feel for him.

_But how could I not feel for him_, she argued with herself. _He's the only person here in this time that feels for me; the only person that talks to me. He hurts others, but he protects me._

_Now you've done it girl; you've got yourself a nice hole to lie in_, she told herself.

Hermione had never once regretted the fact that she was a witch. Not when she, Harry and Ron were preparing for a war, and not even when she had landed herself in the Hospital Wing after being hit with some dark curse or another. But as she roamed the halls of Hogwarts of 1944, Hermione began to resent that little brown barn owl that had delivered her acceptance letter.

What a pickle. What was she going to do? She couldn't be involved with Tom Riddle, not in that way. But then again, she was already involved with him. Whether she liked it or not, Hermione's fate was somehow entwined with Tom's.

Now, if she could just figure out how.

Abruptly, a door popped into existence to her left and Hermione had a sudden flash of déjà vu. The door to the Room of Requirement stood forlornly in front of her, silently beckoning for her to enter.

But look at what had happened to her the last time she entered the room. How could she possibly entertain the idea of entering that godforsaken room again?

But then again, maybe the room would take her home this time. There wasn't much that could make her situation worse.

Gryffindor curiosity mingled with Slytherin self-preservation. But Hermione was truly a Gryffindor at heart, and in the end, curiosity won.

Licking her lips, Hermione swung open the door. There was a long moment where she stood in the threshold, not moving. Plucking up the courage, Hermione walked briskly into the room.

And nothing happened.

She sighed. How very anti-climatic.

A sharp moan sounded in the far corner, causing Hermione to jump. There was a scuffling sound, like someone trying to rise and failing to, followed by another painful moan.

Someone was already in the room.

"Hello?" she called out softly.

There was a groan in response and Hermione walked cautiously into the room, using her wand to light the candles. She saw a flash of blonde hair and black robes before the person once again collapsed in a pitiful heap.

She walked quietly over to the slumped form, her breath catching when she recognized it.

"Malfoy?" she asked in surprise.

He groaned, his steel eyes flickering open and taking a few seconds longer than normal to focus on her. "Mudblood?" he mumbled.

Despite the situation, Hermione managed to roll her eyes in annoyance. "Yes, it's the mudblood here to your rescue," she said sarcastically. He grunted painfully and she noticed that he was clutching his stomach and sweat was streaking down his brow. "Jesus, Malfoy, what in the world happened to you?"

His body was shaking uncontrollably and Hermione finally recognized the after effects of the Cruciatus Curse. "Like you don't know," he spat.

"Malfoy, what happened?" she asked again.

He managed to smirk at her. "You really don't know, do you?" he managed to bark out in between coughs. "You don't know what Tom does during the night."

That brought Hermione up short and she quickly grasped what had happened. Tom had held a meeting earlier, after all, and it was obvious now that Malfoy had been punished.

A large part of her recoiled at the thought of anyone being subjected to the Cruciatus Curse, but there was also a small part of her that glorified at Malfoy's fall. It was like the Room of Requirement and Tom had given her this gift to be able to see the great Abraxas Malfoy fallen from his pedestal.

The moment seemed to freeze with Malfoy looking up at her for once, sweat dripping into his eyes. She realized that she held a great deal of power of him at the moment. She could make or break him with a single word or action.

And while a part of her sang at the sight of him hurt and nearly broken, there was no way Hermione could do what she knew Malfoy would not hesitate to if their positions were reversed. Sighing, Hermione pointed her wand at him and muttered one of the first charms she had learned as a witch.

"_Levicorpus_!"

Malfoy's huddled form levitated in the air and using her wand, Hermione directed him out of the room.

"What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?" he nearly screeched.

Hermione snorted. "I'm taking you to the Hospital Wing."

"Why?"

She continued her march down the hall, careful not to knock him into the walls or the suits of armor. "Because you're hurt," she spoke like she was trying to explain something to a small child.

"Why are you helping me?" he growled at her through gritted teeth.

Hermione pushed open the door to the Infirmary and levitated Malfoy onto the nearest bed. He winced as she placed him down and met her eyes in a long stare.

"Because," she smirked in a Slytherin like way, "I'm not you."

"This changes nothing," he hissed, angered by her words.

Hermione smiled. "No, of course it doesn't," she said knowingly.

She left him for the nurse to find and headed back to her room feeling very tired. Hermione prodded Helga awake, apologizing at the late hour. The red-headed founder smiled down at her and swung open, telling her to have a good night's sleep.

She entered her room quietly, but sighed loudly when she realized Tom wasn't in. She did, however, hear water running from the bathroom where he was presumably getting ready for bed. Quickly, she threw off her robe and crawled into bed making sure that she was on the very edge without being in danger of falling over.

When she heard Tom re-enter, she laid perfectly still. She heard him chuckle softly at her, but he seemed to take pity on her by crawling into bed without comment. She heard him mutter a soft 'nox' and the room was enveloped in darkness.

Hermione would never know in the years to come who made the first move, whether or not she turned around first or if Thomas stretched out his arm out before she moved. All she did know was that it was the first time that Hermione consciously put herself in Thomas's arms, the first time she felt him place an almost loving kiss on the top of her head.

When Hermione woke up in the morning to find herself in the familiar position of her limbs entwined with Tom's, she had a feeling she'd never make it home.

Albus told her that in order to make it home she'd have to find the answers she sought, but there were no answers to be found in Thomas's arms.

Only more questions.


	12. Fear

Hey, I'm back…Sorry for taking so long with this chapter. Life got in the way of my writing, and when I finally found time to work on it, the words were harder to work with for some reason…so, let me know what you think of my difficult chapter!

_Carpe Diem_

_Chapter 12_

Tom stared at Hermione, silently studying her from across the table as she chewed pensively on the end of her quill. Whether she was aware of his scrutiny Tom didn't know or care, but he took advantage of the opportunity to simply watch her since the chance to do so seemed to occur less often since their first and only kiss.

Ever since that night nearly three weeks ago, things had been rather strained between them- what with Hermione trying valiantly to act as though nothing had happened, and with him making sure to remind her of the incident with subtle touches and heated glances- it all made for an interesting month.

Tom was rather unnerved with the fact that he had kissed her without really making the conscious decision to, although he found the outcome rather enjoyable. Tom had been with women before, but had never really kissed one just for the sake of doing so. Kissing had always been a form of foreplay, a prelude to a night of dull lust and physical curiosity.

But kissing Hermione was unlike anything he had ever experienced; indeed, unlike anything he had ever thought it would be. She was hot where he was cold, and she was soft where he was rough. Her kisses were tentative yet tender, almost loving.

Love. Tom mentally scoffed at the idea. Love was a fool's game, an idea thought up by men and pursued by women and no one benefited. He knew he didn't love her, that he never could. Love required having a heart, after all, and Tom merely had a gaping hole where his should have been. No, he was in no danger of falling in love with his mudblood, but what about her? Could she fall in love with him?

Tom found the idea surprisingly appealing. Hermione was different from the nameless girls he had dallied with- he doubted he'd find any other like her. She was smart, pretty, and powerful- a deadly combination for a woman. Perhaps he could use any tender feelings she developed for him to his advantage. A Dark Lord would need an heir eventually…

_Snake but not snake, one of us but something more…_

"No, no, no, you're doing it all wrong!"

Tom snapped out of his thoughts at Hermione's bossy tone. She was reading over his homework assignment from their arithmancy class that morning, comparing their answers.

"And what makes you say that?" he inquired, a black brow lifted in arrogant question.

She rolled her eyes and her right hand curled into a fist which Tom knew meant that she was resisting the urge to tug his eyebrow back down. She absolutely hated it when he'd lift one brow and take a condescending tone- it was the reason that he made sure to do it as much as possible around her.

"Because it contradicts the formula you are supposed to be using to solve the equation! It contradicts itself for Merlin's sake!" she nearly screeched.

Tom thought it was a good thing that they were using one of the study rooms as opposed to just remaining in the library's study area. Surely, Madam Pince would have been scandalized by Hermione's raised voice.

"Did you read it completely?" he asked calmly.

She sighed. "Yes," she snapped rather like a petulant child.

"Then you'll realize that my conclusion was the correct one to be drawn," he stated as if that was all that mattered.

"That's not the point, Thomas!" she proclaimed, much as he suspected she would.

Tom smirked at her obvious annoyance. "Then what is?"

"The point," she stressed, "is to test our understanding of the theory, not to merely get the correct answer. Anyone could simply take a guess and get the answer right, that doesn't prove their knowledge or understanding of the subject!"

Tom listened to her small rant with what was, for him, great patience. Personally he thought she was being ridiculous, but Tom had long since learned that Hermione was extremely dependent upon rules and structure.

"I think," he began in a deceptively mild tone, reaching out to take back his Arithmancy homework from her limp hand, "that you are just upset because you didn't think of merging the Mullins and Wright theories before."

"I am not," she proclaimed defensively.

Tom smiled in mock sympathy, straining not to laugh when Hermione began to grumble angrily under her breath. He didn't know why he loved vexing her so, but he found it immensely satisfying to unsettle her.

They had come a long way since their kiss three weeks ago, and he was enjoying his rather unusual courtship of her. Life with Hermione was interesting and never boring, even though she made things infinitely complicated.

Hermione, on the other hand, was dreading their current situation. She had _known_ she wouldn't be able to hold her own against him. The last thing she had wanted was to get tangled up in whatever game he was playing. And she was sure it was a game to him. She might not understand the rules or the stakes, but she knew he was playing with her and even if it looked like his victory was imminent, she didn't want to go down without a fight.

So, Hermione ignored the way her stomach fluttered when his hand would brush hers. She forced her heart to slow when she woke up each morning in his embrace. And she positively refused to think or talk about their one, searing kiss even though it haunted her dreams.

Denial, as they say, was not just a river in Egypt; it was also the state Hermione was currently in.

"We have defense in ten," Tom informed, rising from his seat and gathering his belongings.

Hermione stood to do the same. "You should banish those plates, otherwise Madam Pince will have our heads," she nodded to the glass plates that had held their lunch.

Tom obligingly took out his wand and banished the plates he had conjured for their afternoon meal. They had taken to eating in the library while working on their assignments for the upcoming week during their lunch period. The hour away from the prying eyes of their classmates was relaxing and tense. On one hand the time away from sneering Slytherins was a welcomed relief, but on the other, Hermione certainly didn't find time alone with Tom Riddle to be calming. She supposed, though, that she'd rather face one snake as opposed to the full house, even if the snake in question was their leader.

Thomas seemed to like her for some inane reason, after all.

Straightening her skirt, Hermione fixed Tom with a plain look that clearly stated she was ready to leave. He nodded at her silent message and moved to the door, fighting a strange smile that tugged at his lips when she brushed passed him, valiantly trying to appear as though she was unaffected by his presence.

And so Tom and Hermione walked into their Defense class with two very different train of thoughts: Tom thinking their little game was very amusing, and Hermione dead certain that having two dark wizards interested in her (albeit for two extremely different reasons) meant that life couldn't be much worse.

Unfortunately, she was wrong.

"While the NEWTS are still sometime away, one can never be too prepared! Starting this week, we will set one day aside for review. During that class time we will go over things that we have learned throughout these past years. Today, we will focus on Boggarts. Now, who can tell me the spell used to repel a boggart?"

Hermione didn't notice Tom raising his arm and answering the majority of Professor Horace's questions. She had faced a boggart before in her third year and knew all of the answers anyway. There were no surprised in this lesson.

But, she had been thirteen, then, still a child really, with nothing to trully fear. Although, she was rather shamed to admit that she still had nightmares about McGonagall chasing her to tell her she had failed all of her classes.

But now she was a young woman at eighteen. She was no longer a child with simple fears. She had fought monsters, seen death, and was struggling in a terrible war. She now knew what real fears were made of.

What would she see when it was her time to face the boggart? The Lord Voldemort of her time- snake like features, glowing red eyes? She had never seen him in person, but Harry had shown her in a pensieve. She knew enough to fear him.

Or maybe she would see Grindelwald as she knew him from pictures out of her textbooks; tall and lanky, with seedy yellow eyes, and a horribly treacherous sneer.

Or maybe she'd see something related to her true time; something unfit to be viewed by others. Gods, what if she saw something that would change the timeline if someone else witnessed it?

"Line up, class. That's right, just like we did a few years ago! We must practice our counter curse!" the Professor happily ordered.

Hermione's nervousness doubled at the sound of chairs and papers shuffling about. She lurched out of her seat when Tom placed a hand on her shoulder, something he seemed to be doing more often lately.

"Hermione?"

It was said in innocent question, but Hermione knew Tom Riddle well enough to detect a slight hint of concern behind his green eyes.

She bit her lip, refusing to comment. Silently, she followed Tom to the end of the line.

Slowly, the line progressed.

Orion Black faced an evil looking vampire.

Minerva efficiently turned her vicious looking spider into a fairy.

Abraxas didn't bate a lash when confronted with a werewolf.

The line was moving quickly as the class progressed steadily. There was only a slight hesitation with each student before they laughed in the face of their fears.

Hermione's hands began to twitch as she took another step forward.

It wasn't fair, she thought helplessly. These students hadn't seen half of the things she had in her first year, let alone her whole life. They didn't have any true fears, she thought jealously as Amanda Pratt easily swatted away her cobra snake boggart.

"It's not fair," she mumbled to herself.

But, of course, Tom heard her.

"What isn't?" he whispered softly.

He had been watching her closely the last few minutes, noticing each time she chewed on her lower lip, each time her hands twitched. It was the first time he had seen her nervous with a school lesson.

"I've seen dementors, faced death, and fought in a war. I have real fears, not the artificial ones you have. This isn't fair," she said desperately.

Tom stared at her intensely, pondering what she had let slip. How he wish he could slip into her mind and see exactly what she feared, but she was a smart girl. Surely she'd notice the intrusion.

The line moved up.

"Alright Miss Granger, your turn," the Professor smiled in reassurance.

Hermione wanted to cry out at the injustice of it all, but she was already in place, and Professor Horace had already released her boggart.

While standing in line, Hermione had pictured many things she had feared, from small inane fears all the way to real, complex fears. She had thought of heights all the way to death, but never had she even remotely thought that her boggart would turn into what it did.

Emerald green eyes pierced her from behind round, innocent glasses. Sloppy, jet black hair stuck out in tuffs, not quite obscuring the lightening bolt shaped scar that rested on his forehead.

Silence settled as the onlookers wtched, confused about the seemingly innocent shape Hermione's fear had taken.

Seconds ticked by in agonizing slowness, but Hermione could only stand dumbly, staring at the form of her best friend.

"H-Harry?"

She had said his name in a mixture of confused happiness and slight fear.

He took a step forward, smiling in a queer way. Hermione stepped back, causing the boggart Harry's smile to widen.

Hermione watched in confusion as it advanced once more to her, eyes cold and glittering, its mouth open and speaking.

"You can't stop it," it said, Harry's voice like a knife to her heart.

It's not Harry, she told herself. It's not him.

"There's nothing you can do," he smiled eerily at her.

"Shut up," she told it, pointing her wand straight at Harry's heart.

Its smile widened as she paused.

"You are nothing," he hissed.

She shook her head. Think of something funny, think of something funny…

"You are nothing to me," he continued.

Her hand shook slightly. She knew it wasn't real, that her Harry would never say such cruel things to her, but the shock from hearing his voice uttering those words…

"Traitor," the word drifted to her.

A tear rolled down one cheek and her heart tightened painfully. She was being so weak, she thought pitifully.

"Weak," he pointed out coldly, reading her thoughts.

Hermione would look back on that moment, knowing that she would have fallen then and there if it hadn't been for Tom.

He had been watching the scene in rapt curiosity. Who was this boy that held so much power over his Hermione? Why did his words hold so much sway over her heart?

But his curiosity abruptly faded when the boggart/boy advanced on Hermione, who was clearly being affected by its presence.

Tom looked at the Professor, silently urging him to intervene, but the man stood there with a stupid look on his slack features, just as useless as the rest of them.

When Tom heard the word weak float across the room, he made his decision.

He strode forward confidently, carelessly pushing Hermione to the side and placing himself before the boggart. The boy with striking green eyes and the curious scar smiled at him as though acknowledging his actions before he turned, and the shape twisted.

And nothing.

Tom stood in front of a gaping hole of black nothingness that seemed to stretch out forever before him.

He peered into the void, uncertain of what it meant, and yet knowing exactly what it was he was looking at.

The gaping hole that was inside of him, the place where something was supposed to be, and yet he was missing it.

What a curious fear, he thought, oddly disappointed. The whole thing was rather anticlimactic, really. He had been prepared to face something, but was faced with the nothingness he had come to know and expect.

Abruptly, the darkness shivered, like a pond rippling in the night. The hole was shrinking, and something seemed to be taking its place, filling its darkness with light.

Honey brown locks and a sunny smile were directed at him, and it was then that Tom knew the meaning of real fear.

(A/N): This chapter was HARD! What with moving out, starting University, and going out of state for my cousin's wedding- I've been so busy!

But never fear, for this story will not be forgotten!

Review, please, and tell me what you all thought of this chapter, it was probably the most difficult one to write to date…


	13. Why Not?

HERE'S THE CHAPTER YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR…AHHH!

_CARPE DIEM_

_Chapter 13_

Why?

The vast majority of questions coursing through her mind could be summarized with that one word.

Why did she go back in time? Why did it have to be Tom Riddle? Why did things always go from bad to worse?

Why? Why? Why?

"Who was that boy?"

No, not who, Hermione thought distractedly, _why_.

"Answer me, Hermione," Tom commanded through clenched teeth.

He was standing behind her, eyes boring into the back of her head as though her curly locks would yield the answers he sought. Her eyes flitted to his reflection in the glass before flicking back to the window to stare out at the Forbidden Forest.

"A friend," she stated dully.

Tom's reflection sneered at her. "People aren't usually afraid of their friends."

She turned from the window abruptly, quirking a disbelieving brow at him. "Really?" she pointedly drew out.

Anger flashed across his eyes like a bolt of lightening reflected across his pupils. He knew exactly what she had meant by her retort for everyone in their Defense class had witnessed a perfect copy of her stepping out of the black void that had been Tom's worst fear.

Needless to say, their last two classes and dinner had been very tense. So tense, in fact, that they hadn't been able to sit through the whole dinner. They left the Great Hall after only fifteen minutes, both of them having no appetite and no patience for the gossiping students that stared shamelessly at the duo.

In seeming indifference they had risen simultaneously, making their exit quickly and silently while ignoring the many eyes that followed their process across the hall. On some unspoken agreement they went to their room, the silence stretching between them holding firm even as Tom gathered his nightclothes and went into the bathroom to change.

When he came out, Hermione was in her white cotton pajamas, staring out the window while pensively stroking Lu who was curled comfortingly around her wrist.

"You know very well that we are not friends," he said in a forcefully even tone.

Hermione felt her heart twitch in what possibly could have been a combination of pain and excitement.

_Not just friends_, she remembered thinking as his lips melded with hers.

_Something more_…

"Why do you fear that boy?" he asked, softer this time, but with no less demand that she answer.

"Why do you fear me?" she returned, resolving to be defiant to the end.

The right corner of his mouth lifted slightly in a shadow of his old smirk telling her that he knew exactly what she was thinking and that he also knew, just as she, that he would get his answers.

One way, or another.

"I do not fear you," he murmured, something that was not quite anger flashed in his eyes, darkening them a shade.

Hermione took a step back as he slowly moved towards her.

"You saw me," Hermione said, ignoring the instinct to flee. "You saw me when you stepped in front of the boggart."

Tom lifted his head and his eyes narrowed in a warning. "I did," he admitted, but before Hermione could retort he continued, "But you were not the only thing I saw."

This brought her up short. She had been there, right beside him when he shoved her out of the way of the boggart. She had seen her twin step out of a black hole.

Tom sniffed, obviously amused by the confused expression that had taken residence on her face.

"Wh-what else did you see?" she asked slowly, unsure if she really wanted to know the answer.

He smirked. He knew she would not be able to resist asking him that.

"I do not fear you," he stated, not deigning to satisfy her curiosity.

She lifted her head confidently. "Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"

Tom smiled lightly at her attempt at manipulation. "Who is Harry?"

The question brought her up short, just as he planned. She obviously did not recall stuttering the boy's name, but Tom remembered. Tom had a feeling that he would never forget the twinge he had felt at hearing Hermione whisper that name in longing regret.

Biting her lip, Hermione broke eye contact. "I told you already."

"I tire of these games, Hermione," he hissed suddenly, stepping forward and grabbing her forcefully by the shoulders. "You will tell me what I want to know."

"Why does it always have to be like this?" she returned, tears burning her eyes. "Why is everything so complicated with you?"

"Hermione," he murmured in warning.

"No!" she shouted, lifting her arms and breaking his biting grip on her. She took a step forward and poked him in the chest with a rigid finger. "I don't answer to you, Thomas. I am not some faithful lapdog you can control! I don't have to tell you anything!"

Tom stared at her in shocked bemusement. No one had ever really told him no before, and on the rare occasion they did, he had found it to be quite disagreeable. But all he seemed to feel at Hermione's refusal was a painful lurch in his heart. He wanted answers, yes, but was it worth the tears gathering in her eyes?

_Harry_…her voice whispered in his mind in a mix of sorrow and love.

Yes, it was worth her tears.

"You are wrong," he whispered darkly, closing the distance between them. "You are mine. I may not be able to control you, Hermione, but you are mine."

"I belong to no one," she declared.

"Who is Harry?"

And she shattered right before his eyes in a million, sparkling pieces.

Perfect tears fell from her warm, sad eyes and her breathing hitched painfully. Shaking hands covered her face and in a quivering voice, she answered him.

"I hate you."

His breath caught in his chest, but his gaze did not falter from her tear stained face.

An old, decaying wall seemed to crumble within her and in a trembling voice she proclaimed, "I _hate_ you. I hate everything you do and say, and everything you don't do or say. I hate everything about you. I hate that you are the only one in this godforsaken place that I can relate to. I hate that I need you, that when you are not around, I look for you. _I hate you_."

Tom watched her cry feeling a sense of victory. She was beautiful when she cried. Enveloping her in his strong, warm embrace, Tom pulled her to him. Instantly, her head nestled against his chest and her fists curled tightly on his robes, and Tom instantly knew that she didn't really hate him. She hated herself for letting him affect her so.

And he knew that the time was ripe. She was so close to giving in to him; he was so close to having his answers.

"Who is he, Hermione?" he asked once more in gentle persistence.

He felt her stiffen before relaxing in his embrace, mumbling, her voice muffled against his chest, "My brother."

"And why do you fear him?" he pressed.

She shook slightly. "I don't fear him. I fear his memory."

Tom looked down at her sharply. "Is he dead?"

Hermione pulled away from him, biting her lip. "He's gone, they're all gone. Nothing but a memory now…"

He watched her swallow convulsively, his mind working furiously to piece the puzzle of her life together. "Is this because of the war? Did he die in the war?"

Hermione's lip trembled.

_No, he hasn't died in the war, but I'm afraid he might…and I'm starting to fear that you may as well…_

"I fled from France," she stated abruptly. "I ran away when faced with a problem. Harry never would have fled; he'd fight to the end. I'm weak."

Tom tilted his head, recalling boggart Harry's words to her: _weak, traitor…Nothing to me._

"You left in order to survive," Tom grumbled, unsure of what to say to make her feel better; unsure of why he felt the need to reassure her.

Guilt rose up to choke her, a heavy lump in her throat. "No, I didn't. I had no choice…What would they say if they could see me now? I hide behind Albus Dumbledore and lock myself in a room with you…I have to go back."

Tom tightened his arms around her. "No," he hissed. "You will not leave."

Hermione shook her head and pulled away from him. "Tom, you don't understand-"

"I don't care," he cut her off. "You will not leave, not now, not ever. I have been generous with you, Hermione. I have shielded you from the other Slytherins, took you into my protection. You will not leave me."

"Tom, I don't think you realize what you're saying," Hermione stared at him, shocked by his sudden vehemence.

"No, Hermione, you are the one who does not realize," he whispered darkly, and Hermione shivered. "We all do what we must and we play the hand we are dealt. You were sent to me and if you wanted to escape, you should have left months ago. It's too late now…you're stuck."

Hermione's lip trembled as she realized the truth of his words. _You're stuck_…it was true on more levels than he realized. She couldn't go home, not until she found the answer to the mystery question that had made the Room of Requirement appear to send her there.

And somehow she knew that even if she wasn't stuck and she was able to make it back home to her time, she'd still be trapped. The tangle web Fate had weaved for her would stretch to her own time and Tom, or what was left of him, really, would still be there waiting for her.

So she had two choices: she could continue to wallow in guilt over circumstances that had occurred beyond her control, or she could, as Tom so eloquently put it, play the hand dealt to her. Hermione was a natural optimist at heart, although recent years had tainted her glass making it appear half empty more often than not, but maybe she could make things work in the past.

Maybe she could make things work with Tom.

Now the new question was about how. How could she possibly make things work? How could she even be entertaining the very notion that things could work between them?

"Hermione?"

Tom's soft voice broke her reverie. Hermione stared at him, eyes wide as she drank in his tall, lithe form, and alabaster skin. His eyes were deceptively innocent, and yet they called to her, urging her to accept him.

The logical part of her questioned his intent. She knew that they were not honorable, but what did he have to gain? Was he looking for a fling? She doubted so. Tom was extremely popular and she would be remiss if she had not noticed the many gaggles of girls making eyes at him.

But then why her?

"Why me, Tom?" she asked, not taking his proffered hand. Not yet at any rate.

"Why not you?" he countered.

Hermione smiled faintly. He always answered her questions with one of his own. Probably because he knew it annoyed her.

"Tom, no games, not right now; you know what I'm asking," she chided.

His eyes narrowed, but he lifted his chin slightly and obligingly answered, "Because it's you that I want."

Hermione mentally scoffed. He made things sound so simple! "But why do you want me, Tom? I'm a mudblood, I'm nobody!"

"You are somebody to me."

Her heart leaped. "But _why_, Tom?"

He smirked down at her and shook his head slightly. "Does it really matter why, Hermione?"

Her mind halted. Did it matter why? What did it matter why he was so interested in her, just as long as he was? Why did the future matter when she wasn't even certain she would go back?

And suddenly the questions took on a different tone. The visions of Harry, Ron, Lucius and Severus were pushed back as a new question surfaced.

Why not?

"It won't be easy," she pointed out.

Tom smiled. "It never is."

"People will talk."

His smile widened. "They always do."

Hermione shook her head. How was it that he always knew the answers?

"We won't listen to them," he stepped to her, his voice a reassuring rumble that reverberated in his chest. "They are beneath us."

Maybe she was being weak and maybe she was betraying some unspoken rule. Thou shall not dally with young dark lords…

But she placed her hand within his long, pale one, and even though she knew she should have regretted it the instant his hand curled around hers, Hermione could only feel an odd sense of relief.

The first battle was over and even though she did forfeit to Tom, Hermione had the strangest feeling that maybe later on, she would look back on this battle as a victory for her as well.


	14. Storm Brewing

Thanks for your wonderful comments…this chapter contains a few things briefly hinted at in previous chapters, but perhaps something you all forgot…Read and review please!

_CARPE DIEM_

_Chapter 14_

People did talk, just as Hermione had claimed they would.

The change in their relationship, while secretly expected by many, was instantaneous. One day everything was normal, and the next, there was a different air around Hermione and Tom as they walked the halls together. They still associated primarily with each other, but there was a new emotion lurking behind their stolen glances and their clasped hands suddenly seemed more intimate.

It was as though something had shifted within them and slid into place, locking them together as clearly as though a red thread stretched between them, linking them at the hands.

And even Minerva McGonagall had agreed that the two Slytherins were made for each other, although her concurrence was hardly meant to be a compliment.

Tom and Hermione did not act differently than they had before, but a person would have had to been blind to not notice the change in their friendship.

But, as Hermione also predicted, it was also hard for there were those who did not agree that they were perfect for each other, mainly anyone wearing a green and silver tie.

Tom's sway over his fellow snakes was strong, though, and there were many that waited with breath abated for Tom to drop Hermione like a bad habit. It would be perfect, they sneered. Tom would gain her trust only to betray her in the worst way possible.

And so they behaved with real Slytherin patience. They ignored the new air around their leader and the mudblood, feigning ignorance. They silently followed Lord Voldemort's orders and kept a look out for anyone that would harm their Lord's new pet, and after hearing not even a wisp of danger, they entertained themselves with wicked thoughts of Hermione's tears and spilt blood. It would be soon, they knew, now that Tom had acted.

They hid around corners, like snakes coiled and ready to strike, watching and waiting in eager patience. It would be great, they all hissed; perfect…

But then Halloween passed and November melted away and Tom had yet to move. For weeks they watched, anxious for a sign, or any hint of what Lord Voldemort would do. Weekdays turned into weekends, and soon they found themselves on the eve of December with still no clue.

It was then that a few of the snakes grew impatient and restless. What was he waiting for? Why was it taking so long?

On the eve of December, they watched Hermione smile and whisper something to Tom in the Great Hall, causing him to laugh.

They had never seen Tom laugh before.

It was all an act, most maintained when a stray snake would voice their worry. He was whispering honey lies to her, building her up. Yes, the stray snake would then agree, the higher up one is, the harder the fall. And fall she would, with no one there to catch her.

But they were all wrong, to different extents. Tom was not setting Hermione up for a fall, but was, in fact, manipulating them to fill his purposes. And while Abraxas Malfoy, the biggest snake in the den, thought he was being quite sneaky while encouraging the uncertainties growing in the common room, Tom Riddle secretly smirked at his pathetic attempts at usurping control.

Abraxas Malfoy had obviously forgotten Tom's warning and clearly underestimated his hold over his Death Eaters.

Tom silently sneered as he idly flipped a tarot card onto the table he and Hermione occupied for their divination class. His smirk widened at seeing the picture painted ominously on it.

Death. How charming.

Hermione suddenly threw down a card with an annoyed huff, causing Tom to smile. Curiosity had prompted Tom to take this class, but now he merely remained for Hermione's uncharacteristically snarky asides.

"Oh look, Tom, the High Priestess. She's quite pretty, isn't she?"

Tom looked at the robed figure of a mysterious woman on the face of the card Hermione had plopped down. Looking back up at her, Tom tempered his grin with an arrogant quirk of his brow. "Not nearly as attractive as you, my dear," he smoothly murmured.

She flopped another card under that of the High Priestess, not even looking at him while responding, "Tom, flattery will get you nowhere."

He smiled at the top of her head. "Why is it that my compliments leave much to be desired with you?"

"Perhaps because I know the real reason behind your pretty words," she proclaimed airily.

Tom snorted. "Do enlighten me."

She looked up at him briefly, grinning impishly before glancing back down at her tarot deck. "You merely wish to unsettle me, Thomas. It is an ongoing game we have, is it not?"

"Indeed," he agreed, "Although I wonder why I even bother anymore for you never appear to be unsettled by anything I say."

"So you surrender, then?" she glanced up again.

He smirked. "Never."

Although he gave no outward sign of amusement, Hermione knew him well enough to spot the small smile hidden in his eyes. His humor was always fleeting, however, but the memory of the brief smile his green eyes held kept Hermione warm for far longer than she would have expected.

Tom moved his blank stare to Abraxas Malfoy who was subtly sneaking glances over at them. Part of the reason Tom's good humor was always so fleeting was due to Malfoy. The boy was always observing them, always watching. And his eyes would always linger a second too long on Hermione, always narrowing on her smiling face.

It wasn't necessarily the staring that irked Tom so, but more so the emotions and thoughts he picked up from the boy. Tom had slipped into Abraxas's mind while his slippery friend glared at Hermione and he most certainly was not pleased by what he saw. He witnessed pictures, flashes really, of Malfoy violating her one way or another. Each scene screamed of Abraxas's desire to dominate and control her, as well as his desire to see her suffer.

Tom was going to have to take care of him, sooner rather than later. Malfoy clearly did not recall his lesson, and Tom was only too eager to remind him. Perhaps, if the situation showed no improvement, Tom would be forced to solve it on a more permanent level.

He found the idea of killing Abraxas Malfoy to be extremely appealing.

"My dear," Professor Thompson broke his train of thought. She was standing behind Hermione, who twisted around in her seat to face her. "I believe you dropped this card. I'm sure it will play an important role in your future…" she stretched out a long, thin arm to offer said card to Hermione.

Tom watched as she swallowed nervously and accepted the card with mumbled thanks. Curiosity filled him as he watched her glance at the card, blush, and then place it in her book while snapping it shut.

"What are the odds that you'll conveniently forget she did that?" she quickly asked, her cheeks burning bright in embarrassment.

"No chance, actually, but I may give you a reprieve until later this evening," he answered mildly.

"I'll take it," she readily accepted, gathering the rest of her effects as class was dismissed.

They had Defense next, a class they both were learning to dread. Ever since the lesson with the boggart, Tom had lost much of his respect for the subject. That one lesson had caused so much damage to his plans. How could he explain to his Death Eaters why he was seemingly afraid of a mudblood? How could he account for the smiling face that had served as his worse fear?

He stood by what he had told Hermione, however. He did not fear her. No, it went much deeper than that. She was only a person, after all. What he felt fear for was what she may be capable of doing, of what she could very well be doing to him presently. He had not seen her, but rather, he had seen that gaping hole where his heart should be, and her laughing smiles filling that black void.

But Tom and Hermione had been more than friends for nearly a month now, and he knew he did not love her. He cared for her, though, more than he cared for anyone else. He felt many things for her, but not love.

Never love, he silently vowed.

His future was already set. He would be a Dark Lord of extraordinary power. People would fear him to the point of fearing his very name. Nothing or no one could move him from that path.

On the other hand, though, no one could take Hermione from his side and live. For some reason, though, he doubted that she saw herself becoming a Dark Lady.

But there was time yet and Tom could be very convincing when he stood to gain something. He was not a hopeless fool. Tom knew that Hermione wouldn't wake up one morning and fancy herself his Dark Lady. But if she fell in love with him…well, Hermione never did anything by halves.

Tom sank gracefully into his chair in the Defense classroom.

Oh yes, he had great plans for his mudblood.

She smiled as she sat at her place by his side.

And she had absolutely no idea.

Somewhere in the pit of his stomach, Tom felt an uncomfortable twinge of something. It was more than a twinge, honestly, and it seemed to spark every time he thought about how he was planning to manipulate Hermione.

It was probably indigestion, he assured himself.

"Class, lately we have been starting our review for your NEWTS," Professor Horace began his lecture, leisurely roaming from desk to desk. "We have focused mainly, however, on defensive spells against dark creatures such as werewolves and, err," he coughed abruptly as his eyes flitted briefly over to Tom and Hermione, "And boggarts."

There was a tense moment of silence after he spoke that was filled with angry Slytherin glaring and Gryffindor snickering. Hermione's sharp eyes narrowed in an angry glare at the professor which prompted another coughing fit from the man.

Hermione then turned her glare to her classmates. She loathed this class. Defense had always been a difficult subject for her, or if not a real test, then at least more challenging than her other classes. She had relished the challenge, though. She had picked Harry's brain dry and read all the books available on defense tactics. She had woken up, eager for this particular class to come so she could have a real challenge in her academics.

But she looked upon the subject in eagerness no more. Professor Horace, a seemingly lighthearted man, was useless as an instructor. He was short, slightly plump with a balding head that always caught the gleam of sunlight filtering through the windows. He was a nice enough fellow, but Hermione was not feeling very friendly with him. He had seen the boggart advance on her and witnessed her inability to stop it, and yet he had hesitated to intervene. But when Tom faced the boggart, well, Professor Horace ran to _his_ rescue.

Hermione recalled with tempered bitterness how she had seen her image crawl out of the darkness before Tom, but it was no longer than the second she took to recognize her twin before Professor Horace had moved in front of Tom to dismiss class.

She hated defense.

With Professor Horace's next words, her loathing for the class grew tenfold.

"We have come to a time in our review when we must shift the focus. Today we will be reviewing defensive spells not to be used on dark creatures, but rather on dark wizards. Today, we begin dueling."

'Dueling', apparently, was a magic word for no sooner had the word left the teacher's lips than students were excitedly murmuring amongst themselves.

Hermione _really_ hated defense.

All of the Slytherins and not a few Gryffindors glanced at her in anticipation and Hermione was frankly surprised that they weren't salivating with the desire to hex her to pieces.

She _really, really_ hated defense.

"Don't fret, Hermione. We will be partners, as usual," Tom declared, once again easily interpreting her emotions.

"And I've already assigned partners!" Professor Horace's voice rose above the gossiping buzzing of their classmates.

Hermione groaned. _Figures_…

Tom inwardly agreed.

"In order to encourage inter-house relationships, your dueling partner will not be in the same house as you," he began once more.

_Well, thank goodness for small favors_, Hermione thought.

Professor Horace went through the class roster, pairing Slytherin up with Gryffindor, and the stray Hufflepuff up with a Ravenclaw. Tom was paired with Alex Darling, a shy Hufflepuff that stood no chance against him. The poor boy seemed to know this too, because he dragged his feet miserably as he made his way over to Tom.

"And Miss Granger, since you're new and we don't know what that school of yours taught you, I'll pair you up with one of our strongest students. Miss McGonagall, if you will partner Miss Granger?"

Hermione felt dread fill her as Minerva walked to her desk, her nose up in the air and her displeasure with the pairing rolling off of her in waves. Hermione inwardly sniffed at her future professor's disapproval. It wasn't like she was looking forward to working with someone that couldn't stand her!

Professor Horace proceeded to lecture them on various dueling styles and released the class with an essay assignment due at their next lesson to be written in conjunction with their partner. Hermione bit back a groan. She loathed group projects!

Slowly, she gathered her books, envisioning Professor Horace's round face at the bottom of her sack as she threw in various heavy volumes of literature into her bag.

"Do you want to meet in the library tonight to do our essay?" Minerva asked in strained politeness.

Out f the corner of her eye, Hermione saw a group of Minerva's Gryffindor friends watching their exchange avidly.

Hermione bit her lip. Even though she knew Minerva McGonagall would truly warm to her in the future, it still stung to be subjected to her disregard presently.

"Of course, is after dinner fine?" she asked as evenly as she could.

Minerva nodded and then scurried over to her friends.

As it was wont to do, time seemed to pass by in mere seconds until Hermione found herself sitting at Tom's right and picking at her dinner.

"You will be careful tonight."

It was an order, not a question.

"Tom, I doubt Minerva is planning to ambush me in the library, of all places," she rolled her eyes. He was always so protective.

He looked down at her head. "It's not her I'm worried about."

She looked up from her plate to meet his sharp eyes. "The Slytherins?" she asked quietly.

He broke their stare and looked up and down their table. "They've been too quiet."

"You think they're planning something?"

"They wouldn't be Slytherins if they weren't," he remarked dryly. "And tonight would be perfect for any plan of theirs."

She frowned at her potatoes. "But why tonight?"

He looked at her as if she had lost her mind. "Hermione, don't you realize this will be the first night that I won't be your escort? It is my turn to patrol this evening, and you will not be in our room. I won't be there to protect you."

Annoyance tinged her response. "But Tom, I can take care of myself."

"As you say, my dear, but you will be careful tonight."

There seemed no point in arguing with him seeing as how he was only concerned for her, so Hermione nodded obediently.

But Tom was not through. "Especially of Malfoy, Hermione," he persisted.

"Malfoy? Why just him?"

Tom turned an icy glare at said Slytherin who had, much to Tom's chagrin, been staring at Hermione. "I don't like the way he looks at you," he muttered darkly.

"I don't like the way _any_ of them look at me," she grumbled.

Tom sniffed in agreement. "I'll make the library one of my last stops, that way if you have a late night you won't have to walk alone."

She stared at him, slightly incredulously. "You really think something is going to happen?"

"I like to be prepared for any contingency."

"You would be," she remarked after studying him for a brief moment.

Hermione jolted slightly when Tom dropped a chaste kiss on her forehead. "Go on now, your Gryffindor just left the hall."

Her eyes remained on him, though. He had never kissed her in public before. Their relationship was something that was progressing smoothly, but rather slowly. Hermione knew that her growing feelings for Tom would suffocate if their physical relationship progressed too quickly, and Tom on some level knew this. They had kissed on many occasions. At night Hermione consciously snuggled up to him, and Tom would always kiss her goodnight, and she'd always wake with his long fingers tracing idle patterns up and down her spine. They were comfortable.

But they were both very reserved people in public. Hand holding, a quick embrace, and on occasion Tom would toy with her hair, but that was as far as they went in public.

He must be very worried, indeed, to kiss her in front of prying eyes, for Hermione knew that his kiss hadn't been an endearment so much as a mark. She was his, plain and simple.

"I will be careful," she insisted firmly, her hand grazing his beneath the table.

His eyes darkened a shade as they bored into hers. "See that you do."

She left quickly, not looking back and consequently not noticing the two sets of eyes following her exit. One was Tom's, his eyes sharp and alert.

The other was Abraxas Malfoy's, a storm brewing behind hard, silver eyes.


	15. Library Chit Chat

Thanks for your patience, folks! I hate midterms!

_CARPE DIEM_

Chapter 15

_Nicholas Flamel…I know he's in one of these books…_

_The Chamber of Secrets…a basilisk…PIPES._

_Three twists on the time turner means three extra hours to study!_

"_Herm-own-ninny?" the burly voice came from behind her, startling her into dropping her book._

"_Come on Hermione! Come out and watch us practice!" Ron whining as she worked on her Transfigurations essay._

"_We need to find a spell to destroy horcruxes," Harry's determined voice as they crouched under his invisibility cloak searching through the Restricted Section._

"_I would have expected more from the two of you…" her hurt filled words seeming quiet as they echoed behind her as she flew amongst the bookshelves in an attempt to escape…_

Hermione shook her head and the memories dissipated. She had never realized just how much of her time at Hogwarts was spent in the library, but as she thumbed through a book she recalled reading in her fourth year to help Harry prepare for the Triwizard tournament, Hermione was bombarded with thoughts and memories of the past, or the future, as it were.

The Hogwarts library had always been a safe haven for her that inspired a vast array of emotions within. Confidence, excitement, happiness…

"Hermione, are you quite done?" Minerva huffed in irritation.

And, most recently, annoyance.

Really, Minerva McGonagall was dancing on her last nerve! They had been in the library working on their paper for a few hours now, and the two were making very little progress. Hermione's mind would keep wandering and Minerva always seemed to notice this and would snap at her, which only served to irritate Hermione while making her want to take an even longer time with whatever passage she was supposed to be working on.

They would be in the library for eternity at this rate and Hermione deemed it past time to do something about the animosity between them.

"Have I done something to you?" Hermione asked abruptly, snapping her book closed.

Minerva blinked owlishly, the sudden question catching her unawares. Slowly, she too closed her book and her blue eyes focused on Hermione. "Excuse me?"

"Have I done something to you?" Hermione repeated. "I must have done something to offend you to warrant your childish behavior."

Minerva flinched slightly and a nervous hand tugged a black strand of her hair out of her face. "I'm sure I don't know what you are talking about."

"You'll forgive me if I find that hard to believe since you have been nothing but rude to me since my arrival," Hermione stated dryly, opening her book once again.

The girl opposite of her shifted in her seat in a combination of guilt and irritation.

Hermione continued to speak without looking up from her text. "I was just curious as to what your reason for hating me was."

"I do not hate you," Minerva said slowly, obviously picking her words carefully. "But I find I cannot like you."

She lowered her book and fixed Minerva with a straightforward gaze. "I admire your honesty," she said softly.

Which was true, Hermione did appreciate her honesty. With living amongst Slytherins, honesty had been a sparse trait in her den. It seemed as if she had spent the last few months drowning in one lie after another.

Not for the first time, Hermione wished she had been sorted into Gryffindor. But would it have really made a difference? The other students would still be wary of her, the Slytherins would still hate her, and Tom…well, she was never certain of anything when it came to Tom Riddle.

There was a long stretch of silence between them, and although Hermione tried to ignore it, she still felt that jab of pain in her heart at the bad air between them. She wondered how her McGonagall had felt when seeing her younger self sorted into her house. Was she surprised? Angered? Hermione supposed she'd never know for certain unless she made it back to her time and asked the Gryffindor Head of House herself.

"I may surprise you yet, Minerva," Hermione found herself murmuring. "We are not all as we seem."

"What do you mean?"

Hermione smiled. "Simply that while it is true I do admire your honesty, I find myself disagreeing with your logic."

"I find myself disagreeing with you in general," Minerva grumbled.

"And why is that?"

"You're a Slytherin," she stated as though that one sentence explained everything.

And, sadly, it did. Hermione wondered if she was guilty of treating the Slytherins of her time with the same bias she was now on the receiving end of. She'd like to think she hadn't, but she hadn't always been friends with Lucius and Severus. What about the years before that? Had she treated her classmates with disdain because of a patch on their robes?

Perhaps it was time for Hermione to give Minerva an eye-opener.

"I suppose then that it hardly matters that the hat nearly put me into Gryffindor?" she asked dryly.

Minerva flinched and Hermione smiled at the stark disbelief on the girl's features. "Really?" she sputtered.

Hermione nodded. "The hat said I was perfectly matched for both houses."

Curiosity tilted Minerva's head. "Then why did it pick Slytherin?"

Frowning, Hermione's eyes clouded as she recalled the hat's words to her.

_Not only the mind of a Slytherin, though…yes, you would meet your match there- you have already met him. Far be it from me to separate the two of you…_

"It didn't want to separate me from Tom," she murmured distractedly as she finally realized this herself.

"It's true, then? You knew him before you came here?" Minerva asked, placing her forgotten book on the table and giving Hermione her sole attention.

Hermione shook her head to clear her thoughts, smiling as she answered, "Yes, I spent the summer with him because I arrived earlier than expected. If I recall correctly, you were the first choice to house me, but you were in Greece. Can you image where we'd be if I had spent those few months with you?"

She was asking Minerva, but Hermione couldn't help pondering over the question herself. Fate had sent her back to a specific time when Minerva had been gone on vacation, forcing her to live with Tom. Imagine if she had arrived a week earlier, or even a week later. Where would she be then?

It was almost like it was meant to be…

"You're not like the other Slytherins," Minerva grudgingly relented.

Hermione laughed. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Minerva smiled softly. "It was meant as one."

There was a long, awkward pause in which neither knew what to say. While the tension had lessened between them, there was still that air of unease.

"I was reading about a charm that will cause temporary blindness to whoever is hit by it," Minerva filled the void.

Hermione found herself nodding and opening her book to show the Gryffindor what she had been reading. They spent the next couple hours in relatively friendly chatter about defense spells. Just as she, Severus, and Lucius had at the beginning of their friendship, they stuck only to academics. Naturally they began with defense, and then on to their favorite topics, Hermione smiling when Minerva confessed to wanting to do something in Transfigurations.

Hermione still doubted whether or not they would ever be friends, but perhaps she'd have another set of eyes besides Thomas's to look at her with something other than hostility.

When they got on the subject of divination, Minerva was almost laughing at Hermione's colorful descriptions of the art.

"The future is just something that can't be predicted since it hasn't happened yet," she claimed after Hermione's impromptu rant.

Hermione choked on air. "What did you say?" she sputtered.

"Well, it seems not only silly, but also presumptuous that we mere mortals would even think to claim that we can divine what the future holds in store for us."

"So you don't believe in timelines being parallel, but rather it is just one, ongoing thread," Hermione stated, frowning as she pondered the possibility.

"I don't see how it can be otherwise. If a person had knowledge of the future, then they would also have the power to change it, so how can we change it if we already know what is going to happen. It's all rather confusing, really."

Hermione gave a laugh that wasn't entirely filled with good humor. How many times had her quick mind traveled up and down that road?

"Don't think about it, it'll drive you insane. Time is a paradox. I've learned that it is useless to dwell on what is to be. Perhaps it is more important to dwell on the here and now," Hermione mused.

"You're very smart, Hermione, so why are you wasting time with a subject like divination?" Minerva asked, politely ignoring Hermione's almost sad, pensive tone.

Hermione went to retrieve a text from her bag and opened her mouth to answer Minerva's question, but froze when her fingers connected to a small, thin card. Frowning, Hermione pulled out the card Professor Thompson had slipped to her.

_It must have slipped out of the book_, she thought as she glared down at the face of the card.

"Hermione? What are you doing with a tarot card?" Minerva asked, stretching her neck to glimpse said card.

"The professor gave it to me."

Minerva blinked. "Oh, well, which one is it?"

A red tide swept across her cheeks as Hermione wordlessly handed over the card. Minerva took it, her blue eyes narrowing on the entwined couple that lay naked on the card.

The lovers.

Hermione coughed, snatching the card back when Minerva fixed her with an inquiring gaze. "I'm using it as a bookmark," she hurriedly said, throwing the card back in her bag.

"Right," Minerva chimed, going back to her defense book, a smug little smile curling her lips.

Another hour went by with the two reading silently, every once in a while rattling off an interesting fact or spell they discovered, and only when she had finished the last paragraph on Class Three Defensive Charms did Minerva close her book and yawn.

"It's getting late," Minerva said, stretching out her stiff neck.

Hermione looked up from her book. The candle she had been reading by was down nearly to the nub and she knew that it was already past curfew. She wondered briefly if Tom was finishing with his rounds and if he would be by the library soon. Strange, really, but the past four hours spent with Minerva was probably the longest she had been apart from him. His warning as she left the Great Hall had been stuck in her mind at the beginning of their meeting, but as Hermione gathered her books and prepared to exit the library with Minerva, she told herself Tom had merely been paranoid.

It was then, of course, that she caught a glimpse of a blonde head and a couple other shadowy figures.

Hermione froze. Had it been a trick of the candlelight, or her imagination?

"Did you hear something?" Minerva whispered urgently.

Hermione mentally groaned. Well, definitely not her imagination, then.

Quickly, Hermione's mind analyzed the situation. She and Minerva were out past curfew and about to be cornered by Malfoy and an unknown number of Slytherins. As Head Girl, Minerva could attempt to threaten them, but Hermione knew that the temptation of catching her all alone and hexing her to pieces would be too much.

Besides, the Slytherins listened to no one save for Tom Riddle.

_Tom_, Hermione's heart leapt. He said he'd make the library his last stop, and he should be nearly finished with his rounds…

"Minerva," she whispered as inconspicuously as possible. "I'm going to say goodnight to you and I want you to leave the library. Go and find Tom and bring him here as soon as you can. Do you understand?"

"Is it the Slytherins?" she asked just as softly.

Hermione's jaw clenched as a muffled footstep came from her right. "Don't worry about it. Just go and find Tom."

"But I can't leave you-"

"You can and you will," Hermione cut her off. "We don't stand a chance without Tom and I need you to go get him. He should be close by anyway," she stopped her furious whispering and when she spoke again it was in a loud, forcefully cheerful tone. "Bye Minerva, I'll see you tomorrow."

Minerva bit her lip in indecision. "I'll hurry," she promised softly before she then said, "Yes, Hermione. I'll see you tomorrow."

Hermione watched Minerva's quick exit, her heart racing. _Please hurry, please hurry_, she repeated over and over in her mind as though she could quicken Minerva's feet if she willed it hard enough.

The door to the library shut with an audible click and Hermione took a steadying breath to calm her racing heart.

_Alright, Hermione, stall them_…

"You can come out now, I know you're here," she called out.

Silence, and then the sound of heels clicking on the wooden floors greeted her as Abraxas Malfoy stepped into view.

"You're just so clever, aren't you?" he sneered.

Hermione defiantly lifted her chin and was proud when her voice did not quiver in her response, not even when Orion Black, Devon Felton and Evan Goyle came up to stand menacingly behind Malfoy.

"You just make it easy."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed at her and Hermione heard Tom's voice in the back of her mind.

_I don't like the way he looks at you_…

"Such a clever little mouth you have, Mudblood," he spat, taking a step towards her.

Hermione quickly retreated. "I'd be careful if I were you," she warned.

Abraxas snorted. "And why is that?"

Hermione removed her wand from her pocket, her knuckles turning white around the thin piece of wood. "Tom is on his way here," she claimed.

Orion and Devon flinched slightly, whereas Evan gave an audible gulp, but Abraxas just smirked calmly as he confidently said, "We can finish with you before he gets here."

If possible, Hermione's grip tightened on her wand. "But he will want to know who attacked me, and for some reason, I won't mind telling him."

Abraxas's eyes glittered eerily at her. "We'll obliviate you."

Hermione swallowed nervously. "He'll still know it was you," she pointed out, knowing it was the truth. "He'll punish you…again."

She knew she went too far with her last remark when Abraxas's eyes narrowed and he lifted his ebony wand to her chest. "It will be worth it," he claimed, his voice filled with a dark promise.

Heart thudding painfully, Hermione lifted her own wand. "You don't scare me."

Orion and Devon took out there wands, Evan following suit after a quick jab from Orion. Abraxas smiled. "Then you're a fool."

"Perhaps," she allowed. "But that would make you pathetic, since you need help to take of this poor, little fool."

Orion stepped forward. "You talk too much, Mudblood."

"Yes, she does, doesn't she? Perhaps we should shut her up," Abraxas hissed.

Hermione barely had any time to react before a red light shot out of the end of his wand, hitting her chest.


	16. Troubled Musings

Thanks for all of your reviews…please keep them coming!!!!

_CARPE DIEM_

_Chapter 16_

It took Minerva twenty-three minutes to find Tom. She found him three flights up from the library in the Charms corridor, swiftly sweeping the halls in a brisk pace.

Now, Minerva had never not liked Tom, but she had never liked him either. He was very smart, but she had always maintained that he was very odd, especially for a Slytherin. Secretly, if she was honest with herself, she rather fancied him. Smart, good looking, level-headed…

But there was still that air around him that made him appear untouchable and unreachable. That is, until Hermione Granger came along. This new girl was able to reach out far enough to touch Tom.

And for that, Minerva was jealous.

A part of her envied the girl, whereas another part almost pitied her. Tom Riddle did not strike her as an easy man to love and Minerva did not believe she would ever be up to the challenge. But this new girl…

Minerva had been content to sit back and watch the events unfold before her as if she were watching a play.

But now she had her own part in the play and as she skidded around the corner and collided with a warm body, Minerva was determined to do her best at her assigned role. She only hoped Hermione would be able to do the same.

A thin, pale hand came out to steady her, and Minerva McGonagall had never been so happy to see the Slytherin Head Boy.

His green eyes roved over her flushed cheeks and wide eyes, and Minerva watched as his eyes darkened and his lips thinned into a furious line. She didn't have to say anything; he knew why she was there.

"Where?" he bit out, the single word coming out in a tight voice that spoke volumes of his anger and his control over it.

That was another thing about Tom Riddle. His perceptiveness was entirely unnerving.

"Library," she huffed.

And without another word, he turned on his heel and made his way to the library in quick, rapid steps, Minerva having to jog to keep up with his near running pace.

While it took Minerva twenty-three minutes to find Tom, it took the two of them only five minutes to find Hermione. The scene that greeted them as they stormed into the library brought Minerva up short beside Tom.

Evan Goyle lay prone on the floor, most likely stunned early on in the fray. Orion Black was kneeling over an unconscious Devon Felton, nursing a broken arm and holding a broken wand.

But the sight that truly made Minerva's mouth fall open in awe was that of Abraxas Malfoy and Hermione Granger. Blood was flowing from Malfoy's broken nose and one eye was already swelled shut and turning a sickly yellow green. The eye that wasn't swollen shut was opened wide and filled with anger and hate. He looked like one possessed.

Hermione, herself, looked nothing like the sarcastic, smart, and friendly girl Minerva had just worked with. There was a deep gash on her right shoulder and blood streamed down her arm in a sticky, wet red river. How she managed to hold her wand with the painful cut on her arm, and with the blood making her grip slick, amazed Minerva. Her hair was free of its earlier confining bun and it frizzed out around her as though electricity was shooting through her. She seemed to be favoring her left leg and when Minerva glanced down she winced. Her right ankle was clearly broken and the fact that she was standing at all had to be a miracle.

They didn't seem to notice their presence for neither of them stopped in their duel. Abraxas managed to shout out three dark hexes, all of which Hermione either physically dodged or magically blocked, before Hermione began to fire back.

Minerva had never seen a person move with such a combination of grace and decisiveness, like she had known along which curses Malfoy was going to use and which spell she was going to counter with. In fact, Minerva could only think of one other person she had seen use magic in such a manner.

_No wonder she and Tom are together_, she thought as she watched the Slytherin girl confidently block a belated hex from Orion Black who had recovered Devon's wand, wincing as another slicing hex aimed by Malfoy managed to cut across her back in the process. But she didn't pause in her retaliating curse to Abraxas, and didn't even flinch as she hit Black with a stunning charm.

_This is a girl that has fought in a war, that has dueled with true dark wizards_, Minerva watched, amazed and terrified at the sight.

_He doesn't stand a chance_…

She felt rather than saw Tom take out his wand and wave it silently, causing the scene before him to freeze. What a tableau they made, Malfoy looking wild and crazy and Hermione looking as though she was only barely being restrained by Tom's spell.

Slowly, Tom walked in the middle of them, his eyes sweeping over Hermione to memorize every scrape, cut, and bruise on her form. As his eyes traveled her up and down, they darkened over every abrasion on her pale skin, the dim light of the library making them appear black and the moonlight filtering through the windows making them glitter dangerously. He turned his back to her after his perusal and faced Malfoy.

Minerva couldn't see his expression, but she knew it had to be furious because Malfoy began to tremble before him.

He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. The dark shadows of the room seemed to gather around him, cloaking him in dark, angry waves of power that made Minerva shiver in apprehension.

"Leave us," he commanded, his black eyes never straying from Malfoy.

Minerva did not have to be told twice. She quickly went to Hermione, throwing the girl's arm around her shoulder and supporting her weight as she lead her out of the library and away from what was sure to be a very scary sight.

Unaware that she had been holding her breath, Minerva finally began to breathe easily once the heavy oak doors closed behind them with an ominous sense of finality.

"He's going to kill him," Hermione huffed as they painstakingly made their way to the Head's dorm.

Minerva did not reply seeing as how she rather agreed with Hermione's assessment and she could not help but notice the girl's lack of worry over the fact.

"Should I take you to the Hospital Wing?" she asked in a grunt as they made their way up a flight of stairs.

"No, we have to keep this quiet," she hissed painfully.

"I know a few healing charms, but I don't know if there is much I can do about your ankle."

Hermione was panting heavily as they rounded a corner. "No matter. Tom will fix it when he gets back. I don't think I have the strength to do it on my own right now."

"It was unfair of them to corner you like that, four on one," she muttered angrily.

Hermione snorted. "A Slytherin would call it the most opportune moment, but I find myself agreeing with you. It was unfair."

Minerva caught her as she started wavering on her feet. "Not that it mattered. You certainly handled the situation well."

A smirk drifted across Hermione's face. "I'm used to defending myself."

"Clearly," Minerva stated dryly. "They didn't stand a chance, did they?"

"All it takes is one spell, Minerva. One lucky hit and I would have been dead. It was good that you showed up with Tom when you did. I might be able to handle four on one, but it is certainly tiring."

A picture of Tom's eyes flitted across her mind. "I'm not so sure getting him was a good idea," she murmured.

"Not for them, anyway," Hermione agreed.

Minerva glanced at her, but quickly looked away. "What do you think he's going to do with them?"

Hermione's mouth thinned. "I don't think you want to know, Minerva."

She gulped. "Right then. But, do you think I should get a professor, or something- just in case?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, it would only make matters worse."

Minerva bit her lip, torn between her duty as Head Girl and her desire to see Malfoy and his friends disciplined for such a dirty, cowardly attack. She wanted to see them punished, but by Tom or the Headmaster?

She knew, though, that if she went to the teachers that there may be a possibility of them escaping justice. Slytherins were very slippery that way. But with Tom…

Tom would make sure they got what they deserved.

Could justice be found outside the system, Minerva wondered. Would it really be better to leave them to Tom, who would surely make sure they paid?

Hermione groaned in pain having bumped her ankle.

Yes, Minerva thought grimly with no pity, let Tom have them.

They came to a stop in front of the portrait of Helga Hufflepuff.

"Oh my dear! What happened?" she trilled, her kind eyes crinkled with worry.

"An accident," Minerva claimed. "Carpe diem."

Helga swung open and Minerva set a heavily panting Hermione on the couch, immediately setting to work on the gash on her back and shoulder. Time seemed to drip by like molasses on a stick, neither girl saying anything except for the occasional healing charm. It took Minerva far longer than she expected to heal Hermione. After healing one cut, she'd find another, and after that one, she'd find a bruise. Nearly an hour went by before Minerva set her wand down and declared Hermione healed.

Well, Minerva thought as she swept a critical eye over the girl, healed to the best of her ability.

Hermione laid back into the couch, her ankle propped up on the foot table and pillows. She was clean now, no sign of the blood that had stained her clothing and skin, and all of her minor scrapes were healed. The gash on her shoulder had been the trickiest to fix up, but after a combination of no less than three healing spells, the cut had stopped bleeding. It wasn't healed completely. There was still an angry red line and the skin around it was raw and pink, but it was a great sight better than before.

"Thank you," Hermione sighed, her head falling back on the sofa and her eyes rolling shut as she finally relaxed.

Silence stretched between them as Minerva stared into the fire merrily crackling before her. She didn't like to think about how many charms it had taken to put Hermione back together. She had been working on her for almost an hour and the time and energy she had exerted meant that Hermione was not the only tired one in the room.

So they sat in silence, Hermione almost dozing off and Minerva staring into the flames.

That was how Tom found them. At the sound of the portrait hole swinging open, Minerva turned to see him walk into the room, staring at the odd picture they made. His eyes swept over her dismissively and went straight to Hermione. She watched as his eyes, still dark and filled with anger, studied Hermione's sleeping form. He noted each healed cut and bruise and nodded slightly to himself as though satisfied with their progress.

He turned back to her. "You've done well," he murmured in approval.

Minerva licked her lips, unaccountably nervous. "Her ankle still needs work, and I couldn't get the cut to heal completely on her shoulder."

He nodded again distractedly. "I can heal it."

"I didn't know healing was your specialty," Minerva snapped without thinking.

His eyes narrowed on her and Minerva blushed. Tom opened his mouth to retort, but Hermione spoke first.

"Be nice, Thomas," she snapped weakly, not even opening her eyes.

_Thomas_, Minerva frowned. She didn't think she'd ever heard anyone call him Thomas before.

Anxiously, Minerva observed Tom to see if he was going to be upset, but his expression was devoid of all emotion. It was scary, really.

"And stop scaring her," Hermione lifted her head up from the couch and fixed Tom with a stern glare.

Other than a casual lift of his right eyebrow, he gave no response to her. His lack of a scathing retort, however, spoke loudly of his affections. No one ever spoke back to Tom Riddle. They followed and obeyed, but never ordered him about, not in the manner Hermione was.

It was strange, watching the dynamic between the two strangest Slytherins. They weren't even speaking, just staring at each other, communicating with their eyes, but Minerva was clearly the outsider.

She was tired of Slytherin intrigue. She had used most of her magical strength healing Hermione, and Minerva found that she didn't have the will or desire to analyze every word and every glance shared with them.

Her soft, warm bed was calling her name like a siren from the sea. With a huff, Minerva hauled herself to her feet, causing the staring contest with Tom and Hermione to break.

"I'm going to sleep," she announced.

Tom inclined his head as if he was granting her his permission.

"Thank you, Minerva, for your help," was Hermione's response, which was considerably warmer than Tom's curt nod.

She smiled distractedly and made to move passed Tom, but his cold fingers shot out at her, wrapping around her wrist and squeezing tightly in warning. "Minerva," he rumbled voice low and deadly. "You will not speak of tonight to anyone."

It was not a request, but a command.

Gulping, Minerva nodded her agreement, angry at Tom for daring to order her about, but even more upset with herself for her compliance. She went into her chambers, quickly and efficiently readying herself for bed. She went through her routine mechanically, her mind far away from the task of changing into her nightclothes and brushing out her hair.

When she crawled into her bed, her body sighed in comfort and her eyes drooped. Her mind, though, refused to accept the dark comfort of a dreamless sleep, and instead replayed the night's escapades over and over again.

It was a long time before sleep claimed Minerva, and when she went down to the Gryffindor table for breakfast the next morning and heard the Headmaster's announcement, she knew she'd be in for an even longer day.

She thought that she should have been surprised when Headmaster Dippet stood to announce that Abraxas Malfoy was suffering from a mysterious curse that required serious medical attention more advanced than what Hogwarts's infirmary could offer. She should have been concerned when he claimed that he would be roomed at St. Mungo's for an indefinite stay until the mediwizards could find a counter-curse.

But when Albus Dumbledore fixed his blue eyes unerringly on her, Minerva could only look away at the Slytherin table, ashamed. Her Head of House seemed to follow her gaze and he, too, stared at the Slytherin table, his eyes connecting with Hermione Granger's.

They looked at each other a long moment before Hermione looked away, her honey brown eyes settling on Minerva herself. She smiled half-heartedly, but Minerva could tell she was troubled. There was a dark cloud hovering in her sad eyes, and when she looked away to glance at Tom, Minerva unconsciously shivered.

Tom Riddle's expression looked like it was carved out of marble, cold and unfeeling. When he looked at her, Minerva had the terrible sensation that he was looking inside her, his mind probing and prodding hers as though he was weighing her worth. She seemed to pass his test, though, for after a moment of his penetrating stare, his inclined his head ever so slightly in acknowledgment.

Minerva's stomach churned in response. She didn't know what was worse: Albus Dumbledore's suspicion, or Tom Riddle's approval.


	17. Guilt and Shame

(A/N): Thanks for your patience guys. I decided to post this without a thorough edit that way it'd be up sooner, so sorry for any spelling errors and what not. Read and review please!

_CARPE DIEM_

_Chapter 17_

She didn't know what to say, or rather, there was so much she wanted to say she was having trouble deciding which to say first. A million questions seemed to race across her mind, each bringing a new line of even more disturbing queries in their wake.

But did she really want to know the answers? Ignorance could be bliss…

Even as the idea crossed her mind, Hermione dismissed it. She had seen what ignorance had led to before. It was always best to know the answers.

So when she heard Minerva's door click shut behind her, she randomly selected a question from her ever growing list. "Is he dead?" she asked bluntly, fixing Tom with a forthright gaze. There was no point skirting around the issue.

His eyes hardened as he stared at her from his vantage point by the door, and the right corner of his pale lips lifted slightly in a cold smirk. "No," he claimed without further explanation.

There was something in his tone, though, as well as the cold glitter in his eyes that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention. He would not directly lie to her, she supposed, but something in his simple answer begged to be examined.

"What did you do to him?" she asked, her voice coming out in a barely audible whisper. As soon as the question crossed her lips she wished she could take it back. She didn't want to know, not really. Hermione didn't want to picture what Tom had done to Abraxas Malfoy after she and Minerva had left them in the library.

She didn't want to know what he was capable of.

Tom remained standing at the door, his eyes guarded as he contemplated answering her truthfully. He wondered what she'd say if he told her it had taken all of his willpower not to kill Malfoy when he saw her blood, slowly streaming down her arms and hitting the library floor in a muted splash. What would she would say if he told her he had woken his Slytherin followers and had called an impromptu meeting in the Room of Requirement where manipulated them into torturing Malfoy, Black, Goyle, and Felton to prove their loyalty to him?

He found himself fighting a smile as he pictured Abraxas Malfoy's pure blood flowing onto the floor. Tom had made sure that every drop of Hermione's muddied blood was repaid in full by the boy. Tom even contemplated telling Hermione how he had raised his wand only once after the others had had their fill of the boy, casting a curse of his own creation that slowly shattered each bone in the body one by one, and once every bone was broken, they would slowly and painfully knit back together until the person was whole again, only to have the process repeat itself. This curse of his creation was untraceable and could only be lifted by him.

His eyes strayed to her right ankle propped up on two pillows, one green and the other red. The curse, he vowed, would not be lifted for quite some time.

If at all.

But Tom knew he would never tell her those exact circumstances, for she did not really wish to know. Some part of her did, the part of her mind that wanted to know the answers to all of the questions. But there was another part of her that didn't really care about what he had done to Abraxas Malfoy. Malfoy had been nothing but cruel to her and on some level, maybe even a level she didn't consciously know existed, that part of her knew he deserved whatever Tom had done.

Abraxas Malfoy deserved to be punished.

It was to that side of her that Tom decided to indulge as he evasively answered, "He will never bother you again, that is all you need concern yourself with."

Hermione sighed. She didn't know whether to be disappointed or thankful for such an answer. She knew she should ask again until she got the answer, that she should care about whether or not Malfoy was alright, but instead, she found herself asking a new question.

"Will the others stop now?"

Tom smiled, noticing that she had not pressed the issue of Malfoy's welfare. She could be just as ruthless as he was given time and the proper encouragement. What an interesting Dark Lady she'd make…

"Perhaps for now," he replied, shaking his thoughts as he finally moved into the room to stand beside her. "But they will never stop."

She had known just as much, but hearing him say so made it seem more final. This would be an ongoing battle, one that would stretch through time, one that she'd be fighting for the rest of her life. Thinking about it made her head spin and her already aching muscles scream for the need to rest.

"Let's go to bed, Thomas," she murmured, her eyes pleading him for sleep.

He nodded, his hand reaching out and connecting with her thigh and traveling down to her broken ankle. In almost loving gentleness he caressed the swollen appendage, his fingers leaving a warm, fiery tingle in their wake. Hermione knew without having to look that her ankle was now healed and without breaking their intimate eye contact, she took Thomas's hand and allowed him to pull her upstairs and into bed where she slept, too tired to change her clothes, in a restless sleep plagued with visions of Tom with flashing red eyes smiling at her sweetly as he tortured people from the past and future. It was the first of many of guilt ridden nightmares.

Hermione's guilt increased tenfold the following morning as she met Albus Dumbledore's eyes after Headmaster Dippet's announcement concerning Malfoy. The ever-present cheery twinkle was gone, and Hermione had the suspicion that he knew exactly what had occurred last night. The weight of his gaze made her shoulders sag and she found that she could only hold the connection for mere seconds before she was forced to glance away in a telling sign of guilt. She noticed Minerva at the Gryffindor table undergo the same treatment, unable to withstand Dumbledore's stare.

She felt bad for the Head Girl, knowing that she was most likely having similar feelings of guilt, fighting her duty to turn Tom in, but also the Gryffindor thought that they had only gotten what they deserved for unfairly attacking a girl in the middle of the night unprovoked. She wondered if she would buckle under pressure and turn them in to be expelled.

Her heart tightened at the thought, and Hermione turned to look at Tom for comfort. He was either blissfully unaware of Albus Dumbledore's eyes on him, or completely unaffected, and Hermione rather thought it was the latter of the two. His expression revealed nothing, even though his eyes were focused on Minerva across the hall. She watched as he inclined his head ever so slightly to her, and Hermione immediately understood what he was doing by acknowledging her. On one hand he was thanking her for her assistance last evening, but the deadened fire that lurked in his eyes also served as a reminder of the cold fire that would ignite and engulf Minerva if she so much as breathed a word of the altercation to a soul.

Hermione knew in that instant that Minerva would not tell anyone about last night. She was too afraid of Tom.

And with good reason.

_What have I gotten myself into_, Hermione thought desperately.

She had known it would be hard with Tom, that she would constantly question his intent and actions, as well as her own. But as she looked down at her plate filled with eggs and kippers that remained untouched, she had a feeling she would not escape their relationship unscathed. She would never be the same person again, she realized.

Was she turning into another mindless follower? Was she sacrificing her ideas and beliefs in order to be with Tom? And if so, was Tom worth such a sacrifice?

She knew Tom was now looking intently down at the top of her head, but she did not look up to meet his eyes. She was both afraid and ashamed by her line of thoughts and she knew Tom could read her better than anyone. Was she selling a part of her soul? Was she losing herself in Tom Riddle?

Hermione tried to mentally distance herself from the situation to look at it logically. If she was being affected by Tom, then he was most likely being affected by her. Perhaps, then, it was worth a small sacrifice in order to change Tom. Relationships, she rationalized, were filled with forfeits. They were not easy and it took hard work, and yes, some sacrificing.

And while she knew that there was no way she could stop Tom Riddle from becoming Voldemort, he already had become him in a sense, she hoped that maybe she could influence him just enough to plant a small seed of doubt. If she was able to affect him even half as much as he was her, then maybe there'd be some small part of him that would remain human. A part of him that could be saved from the evil that was surely going to claim him.

She shook her head, a few bushy locks escaping from her bun in the process. Hermione hated thinking about the future, and since she was more or less presently stuck in the past, she resolved to live for the moment. Maybe she was being weak for taking the easy way out, but Hermione found herself not caring.

As if to prove her indifference, Hermione reached out and squeezed Tom's hand without looking up. She felt him give an answering squeeze as he entwined his long fingers with her own. She didn't know where there relationship was going, although there was a small ache in her heart that hinted at the destination, but she resolved to see it to the end. Tom, she knew, would never let her go.

She was trapped. A prisoner by her own hand. She had known who Tom Riddle would become and she had still chosen him.

_No, he chose me_, a part of her whispered.

Which was true. They had chosen each other.

And for better or worse, they had to live with their choices. There was no turning back now for it was far too late.

"We'll be late if you don't get moving, Hermione."

She jumped, startled by both the words that seemed to be an echo of her own thoughts and Tom's lips nearly grazing her earlobe. He smirked at her reaction for he always seemed to delight in her discomfort, and together they left the emptying Great Hall for their Advanced Transfigurations class where they were working on becoming animagi.

Albus Dumbledore was an amazing teacher and Hermione felt extremely honored to be studying under him. He had a way for demonstrating transfigurations that were fun and interesting, as well as being extremely advanced. They were researching the steps and meditations required for animagus transformations, and it was their goal to become animagi before the end of the year, although Professor Dumbledore made sure to stress that the odds of them all successfully transforming were slim as it took great determination and power to maintain an animal form.

Hermione would always secretly smile because she, Ron, and Harry had already successfully managed to transform with the aid of Professor McGonagall, Lucius, and Severus that summer. Ron made a fiery orange tiger, Harry was, to no one's surprise, a striking Barbary lion, and Hermione could turn into a sleek mountain lion.

Today they spent their time on meditation and it felt as though no sooner had she closed her eyes and cleared her mind than class was being dismissed.

Hermione was not surprised when Professor Dumbledore asked her to stay behind.

After reassuring Tom that she could find her own way to potions, thank you very much, Hermione made her way to stand in front of Albus's front desk, staring determinedly at a spot on his forehead.

"Miss Granger, would you mind stepping into my office?"

It was not a request, of course, so Hermione nodded and followed him through the side door which led to his private office. She gulped slightly as he through a silencing charm up before fixing her with those damned knowing eyes.

Well, if he was going to accuse her, he'd have to be the first one to speak, Hermione stubbornly thought as she looked away from him to examine his office. She'd been in it a few times before, but there was something about the most powerful wizard of the age having Bertie Bott's Beans lying next to purple and orange socks that begged to be examined.

"Hermione," he began, drawing her attention away from his cherry wood desk and back to him. "I will not waist our time with any accusations, but it would be irresponsible of me if I did not address the issue with young Mr. Malfoy with you."

She blinked, but could not find any words to speak.

"How much do you know about Tom Riddle, Hermione?" he asked abruptly.

She cocked her head to the side and pondered how to answer. Their discussions about the future were always handled delicately for if Albus knew too much of it, he would be tempted to change it.

"Enough," she settled on saying.

He nodded. "I see. While I am grateful that both you and Mr. Riddle have found a friend in each other, I feel it important to advise you against forming any lasting attachments with anyone here. This is not your home, Hermione. Never forget that for to do so is to forget yourself."

She attempted to swallow the lump rising in her throat as she nodded.

"Hermione, you would do well to remember the role you play, not only in this time but in your true time as well. We cannot live in the past, my dear, and you should not be afraid of the future. It is a fine line you are being forced to tread, and I do not envy the position you are in. However, if any more events such as last night occur I will be forced to take action. Do not doubt the seriousness of this situation, Miss Granger. My duty is to ensure the safety of _all_ students. There will be no exceptions, are we clear?"

Hermione stared at him, completely dumbfounded. She couldn't articulate anything resembling an intelligent response, so she nodded once more, trying to ignore the tears prickling the corner of her eyes. Why was he so concerned with Malfoy's safety, and how can he overlook the fact that _they_ had cornered _her_?

Anger and shame made the lump in her throat swell. It wasn't fair. On one hand she entirely agreed with him, but on the other she could still see Abraxas's hateful eyes burning holes into her and his thin lips forming a sneer as his slicing hex connected with her shoulder. Wasn't he concerned at all for her safety?

_Of course he is_, she told herself, but for some reason, she felt Tom's concern was more genuine.

"I will speak with you later, Miss Granger, after the holidays, about Grindelwald and what precautions we will be taking to protect you," he dismissed, his eyes bright and his cheery grin once again in place.

And if his eyes did not twinkle as much as they had before at her, she pretended not to notice.

With a quiet goodbye she left his office and nearly fell over when she walked straight into Tom. She should have known that he'd be waiting for her.

He took one look at her frowning features and his eyes darkened. "What did he say?" he snapped, his hands gripping her shoulders tightly as though to prevent him from shaking her.

"No-nothing," she stuttered.

His eyes narrowed in disbelief and after a quick glance to verify the hall was quite empty, he pulled her into an adjourning classroom and put up a silencing ward.

"You're a terrible liar, Hermione. What did Dumbledore say?" he asked again in a low, demanding tone.

The anger that had kindled at Dumbledore's condescending words began to simmer out of her control. "You know very well what he said, Thomas, so don't play the simpleton!"

There was a faint rumbling in his chest that warned Hermione that now was probably not a good time to push his buttons seeing as how he had been in a terrible rage last night and nearly killed someone. But Hermione didn't care for she was just as furious.

"Does he know about last night?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"He knows everything, Tom, you know this already. Nothing gets by Albus Dumbledore in this school!" she huffed, annoyed at his deliberate questioning. Honestly, did he think she was one of his Death Eaters to be interrogated for any useful information?

If she thought that answering Tom's question would abate his anger, she was wrong. Her response only seemed redirect his anger and frustration.

"The old fool is always meddling in my affairs, but not for long," he murmured in dark promise.

Hermione felt her heart stop. "Don't," her voice cracked, "Don't talk that way, Thomas. I don't like it when you say such things."

She didn't like how he had sounded grimly certain about Dumbledore, like he knew something she wasn't privy to.

Tom fixed her with a cool stare. "You didn't mind it last night."

"That's different," she hissed, tears beginning to fill her eyes because deep inside she knew he was right.

He then said something to her that made so much sense it made her want to cry.

"We all have our roles to play, Hermione" he stated, his green eyes piercing her honey orbs.

Hermione couldn't help but to wonder what exactly her role would be in Tom's future.


	18. A Snake, a Locket, and a Letter

(A/N): Thanks for your patience guys…it's been finals the past two weeks at school so life has been hectic…Anyway, this chapter should start speeding things up- I expect maybe four or five more chapters to be in the past before IT happens…What is IT, you wonder, dear reader? Well, stay tuned…….

_CARPE DIEM_

_Chapter 18_

The Christmas holiday break turned out to be a rather introspective affair for Tom. A part of him had been very curious to see how the eventful holiday would unfold this year, a year that was proving to be very exciting, indeed.

But alas, for all of Tom's anticipation, Christmas day was rather anticlimactic.

He awoke before Hermione, as usual, and found himself strangely content to linger abed with her cuddled up next to him as he lost himself to his thoughts. Lazily, he twirled his fingers around her soft, bushy locks. Tom loved Hermione's hair. It was wild, untamed- just like her. No matter how intrigued he was by the texture of her caramel hair, though, Tom's thoughts began to drift down a less innocent path that focused mainly on his future and Hermione's place in it.

It was a fine line he had chosen to walk by creating his Death Eaters and yet deciding to keep his mudblood. The two were completely contradictory and yet he craved them both. Tom aspired to lead his fellow purebloods in a campaign to cleanse their world. He wanted power, absolute power and he cared not if it corrupted him absolutely. The right corner of his lip curled in dark amusement. He already was corrupted.

And he was already on his way to gaining that power by means of his perfect little scapegoat. Many would die as he usurped control, maybe thousands if he was lucky, but it mattered not. They were only mudbloods, after all.

But then there was _his_ mudblood, Hermione Granger. She was beautiful in a nontraditional sense that went far deeper than outer beauty. She sparkled from within and it was her inner fire that accented her physical features into true perfection. There was power there, too. Tom could feel it bubbling within her every time she grew angry, sad, or happy. He could feel it blossoming with each nonverbal spell she cast, be it with her wand or her smile.

But Tom also knew she was dangerous. If she became aware of his plans too soon then she would most likely rise against him. For all of her Slytherin cunning and brilliant mind, she really was a Gryffindor at heart. She would gather the mudbloods to her, like a Shepard calling to her lost sheep, and she would fight him. Oh yes, she would fight him to the bitter end, until the last breath escaped from her dying body unless-

Tom's hand stilled in her hair.

Unless he killed her.

It was the most logical solution to the threat she posed. He'd make it quick and painless. A flash of green and it would be like coming home…

Hermione shifted against him, her head finding a pillow in the hollow of his shoulder as she mumbled something incoherently. Time seemed to freeze as Hermione settled again and Tom felt his heart thudding in an unusually fast pace.

No, he determined, his mind and body sighing as the tension left his limbs. He had already fought so hard to keep her and her potential for a future by his side was too great. Not to mention the fact that the very idea of Hermione's eyes reflecting back the green death before all light left them forever was something Tom could not quite stomach.

No, he had another idea in mind for his mudblood, and he certainly didn't need the approval of his Death Eaters. _They_ followed _him_, not the other way around. He did not have to explain his actions to anyone, a point which he had driven home the night Abraxas Malfoy had decided to take matters into his own hands.

The thought of Malfoy brought a smile to Tom's lips. Tom had made sure that every one of his faithful followers had witnessed what happened to those who did not heed his orders. A stunning example Malfoy had made, and the message had been all the more powerful when Tom forced his followers to torture Abraxas themselves as opposed to doing it himself. They served him, be it out of fear, love, or loyalty, and no one could question his rule. Lord Voldemort would not tolerate betrayers, or, Merlin forbid thought Tom, spies.

That, he thought with a dark fondness, had been a good night.

Hermione stretched and yawned, and Tom knew by the tone of her breathing that she was now awake. Her eyelashes fluttered against his cheek which both annoyed and pleased him, the soft caresses making his stomach tighten in desire. That was another thing he had to focus on more and more recently. He had always desired Hermione, even back at the orphanage before he had even really liked her, but now that their relationship was progressing, Tom was beginning to get a little impatient.

Waking up each morning with her leg curled around his and her chest resting against his side was really starting to affect him. He was a healthy young man, after all, and she was a beautiful young woman. Why shouldn't he have her?

But he knew that in order to truly have her, he would have to move slowly. Hermione would set the pace of their relationship, and by allowing her to do so, he would gain her trust.

Hermione gave another innocent stretch and Tom was painfully aware of her breasts rubbing against his chest. This girl would be the death of him, he simply knew it.

"Happy Christmas, Tom," Hermione sighed, her breath warm on his neck.

He gritted his teeth, annoyed by the fluttering he felt in his stomach. "And you as well, my dear."

They set about their normal routine after that, choosing to ignore the small pile of presents that rested at the foot of their bed, most of which were from Tom's followers attempting to court favor. They took turns in the bathroom, Tom graciously allowing Hermione to use it first, and only after they were freshly scrubbed and neatly dressed did they sort through their meager gifts.

Tom had received a total of five presents, each from Felton, Black, Goyle (who were no doubt trying to regain some standing in his inner circle after their stunt with Malfoy), Crabbe, and a rather attractive Ravenclaw named Samantha Eslick who fancied herself in love with him. He was quick to notice that Hermione only received one, not counting Tom's own present for her.

She picked up her lone gift, her eyes misting over, probably with the memory of past Christmases that were not as sparse as her current one. She looked like she was about to burst into tears when she saw the tag that read: To Hermione, From Albus. Tom wondered briefly why Dumbledore would get her anything for Christmas, but then he remembered that he had been the one to bring her to his orphanage. He probably had been friends with her family or something. And, as he had already learned, her family was dead, which meant that Albus Dumbledore was most likely her guardian. That, he frowned, could be a problem.

Hermione opened her gift to see a bag of lemon drops, which prompted her to laugh for some unknown reason. Whatever the cause for her smile, Tom was grateful because he did not like the awkward silence that had fallen between them.

Tom took all of two minutes to open his gifts, discarding each one indifferently. He received a couple dark arts texts, and a rather indecent picture of the Ravenclaw girl that he had merely glanced over before burning. _Stupid twit_, he thought as the wizarding photo screamed as it was engulfed by fire, _as if her kind could tempt the likes of me_.

From across the bed, Hermione watched him in badly hidden amusement. Quirking a brow at her and fixing her with a cool look that he knew vexed her, Tom threatened, "I may not feel inclined to give you my present if you laugh at me, Hermione."

She gave up concealing her cheeky grin, much to his secret delight, and shot back, "If you don't give me mine, I won't give you yours."

So she had gotten him something. He had wondered about that after realizing hers had not been among his small pile. He contemplated holding the gift over her head and taunting her a bit, but changed his mind at the last minute. If he toyed with here, she'd only toy with him, and Tom was very curious to see what gift his little mudblood had gotten him.

"Alright then, my dear," he conceded, but before the small victory could go to her head, Tom continued, "But you will go first."

She huffed slightly, but nonetheless stood to retrieve a box with several holes in it from under the bed, handing it to him carefully.

Tom studied the green box, noting the silver bow on top which made him smile at her obvious choice of Slytherin colors. He resisted the childish urge to hold it up to his ear and shake it seeing as how the box was already moving on its own accord, or rather, what was inside the box was moving.

He lifted the lid and smiled slightly at what he saw.

"I found her at a shop in Hogsmeade. They don't know which breed she is, really, only that she's magic and is likely to outlive us all. I think she must be part cobra, but she isn't very temperamental. I've handled her well enough and she hasn't tried to bite me," Hermione dutifully supplied, worrying her lip slightly in nervousness.

Tom reached in and retrieved the dark green that was almost black, diamond patterned snake who hissed in protest of being taken from her home. Hermione was quick to remove the box and set about cleaning the wrapping paper up from the previous gifts, so Tom hissed quietly to his new familiar, "_You are mine now, little one. Tell me, what species are you?_"

The snake tightened around his wrist and Tom strained to hear the sibilant words of the snake. "_I am snake, but not snake_," was all she said.

_Snake but not snake_, the words echoed in his mind.

"_Something more_," he unconsciously hissed, his eyes watching Hermione.

Satisfied that the room was now clean, Hermione settled across from Tom once again with a nervous smile. He knew she was waiting to hear what he thought of her gift, that she had only begun cleaning because she was too nervous to simply sit there waiting for his response, so he decided to put her worries to rest.

He smiled at her, small but genuine, as he said, "She is beautiful. Perfect."

Relief was evident in her smile and the way her shoulders sagged. "Do you have a name for her?"

Tom studied the snake around his wrist. "Nagini," he stated.

Hermione froze, a queer expression on her face. "C-come again?" she stuttered.

Tom smiled. "Nagini, it's the female name for cobra in Hindi."

She blinked rapidly and her lips thinned. "I see," she murmured, although Tom got the feeling she was talking more to herself and not him.

His eyes narrowed and searched hers, and even though Tom knew she was keeping something from him, he was not able to ascertain anything from her closed expression.

"Do you want your gift now?" he asked to lighten the mood.

Hermione nodded distantly, still distracted by her thoughts. Tom rose from the bed and deposited Nagini in the medium sized tank Hermione had been using for Lu. He hissed a silent warning to the two territorial snakes, and after he was certain they would not strike at each other, Tom retrieved a small black velvet bag from his trunk.

"What is it?" curiosity had replaced her quiet pensiveness from before, and Hermione's eyes practically glowed in muted excitement.

Tom smirked. "Open it."

She did as she was bid, pulling loose the drawstrings and allowing gravity to do its duty as a gold locket slipped from the bag and into her palm. She stared at it in silent disbelief, mesmerized by the way the light glinted on the heart and chain.

Tom observed her wondering if she had any idea as to what exactly she was holding in the palm of her hand.

"It's beautiful," she muttered, her eyes never leaving it while her other hand rose to finger the golden chain.

He wondered if she would still think so if he explained exactly what it was the locket kept sealed away.

"It's yours," Tom stated.

She cocked her head to the side. "Where did you get it?"

Tom smiled darkly. "It's a family heirloom."

Hermione chewed on her lower lip and finally clasped the necklace on. It hung limply on her neck, the deadweight of the gold pressing reassuringly close to her heart. The second the clasp was closed, it disappeared and Hermione felt a surge of warmth shooting through her body.

"What does it do?" she asked, staring at the heart. Was it _glowing_?

Tom smiled again, making Hermione even more nervous. "Do? Why nothing, of course, it is only a trinket."

They both knew he was lying, but it mattered not because the forgetfulness charm he had placed on the necklace began to kick in and Hermione soon forgot she was even wearing it.

Oh yes, Tom eagerly thought, he had big plans for his little snake charmer.

They went downstairs after that to enjoy a sickeningly sweet breakfast cooked up by the house elves, Albus Dumbledore stopping by their seats on his way to the Head Table.

Tom glared at the old fool, silently fuming at the wizard as he made sure to eye Hermione closely for any reaction to his words.

"Hermione, dear, thank you so much for the socks! How did you know purple and red were my favorite colors?" Professor Dumbledore said rather cheerfully.

Hermione smiled, but Tom noticed that her eyes seemed sad as she answered, "Lucky guess, sir. And thank you as well for the lemon drops; they are quite delicious!"

Albus's smile widened, but then froze abruptly as his sharp eyes caught the glitter of her gold necklace. "That is quite some necklace, Miss Granger. Whoever gave it to you must care for you a great deal."

She frowned, her hand going to clutch the said necklace as though in fear that he might attempt to snatch it. "This? Yes, Thomas gave it to me. It is quite beautiful, although, I don't quite remember putting it on…" she trailed off, her hand falling from the piece of jewelry as Tom's spell kicked in and turned her thoughts else where.

"I see. It looks priceless," Dumbledore demurred, his eyes turning to pierce Tom in understated accusation. Tom held his eyes steadily, making sure to lock away all thoughts on the Slytherin heirloom and the few dark spells he had performed on the locket. It was more than priceless…

"Well then," Dumbledore said abruptly, "I hope you both enjoy your holiday," he bid his farewell, humming to himself as he walked back to the staff table.

_Odd man_, Tom thought unflatteringly.

The rest of their day was spent lounging in the Common Room mostly in silence as they both diligently worked to complete all of their homework assignments for the holiday break. In fact, the rest of their holiday break was spent in that manner. They developed a new routine for their class free days that opted between homework, chess, and snogging. Their days during the small vacation were relaxed, more like their time at the orphanage had been. Most of the students were gone, including all of the Slytherins except for a first year and two third years, and both Tom and Hermione were able to breathe a little easier.

It wasn't until after Tom's birthday and class resumed that the real problems started.

At Hermione's urging, Tom had released Malfoy from the curse (although Tom thought she asked only because she felt it was something she was obligated to do and not because she cared). As it was, she seemed to think that a month of undergoing the pain of feeling bones break and heal was punishment enough. Tom doubted so and was sorely tempted to keep the curse up, but in the end, he could not deny Hermione her request. He was starting to wonder if he could deny her anything anymore.

He did, however, release the curse a week after her request even though he had already claimed to have done so. It was a small point he had done to prove something to himself, but a point nonetheless.

His birthday had passed in much the same manner as the years previous, in silence. He had not told anyone the date of his birth and consequently he received no gifts or cards. It mattered not to him, though. It was only another day.

Although, Hermione did not seem to think so. She had surprised him with a silver snake cloak pin with glowing emerald eyes, as well as a small picnic in one of the less frequented courtyards. She did not fuss much, for which Tom was grateful.

And then the students returned, Malfoy included, and class resumed.

Routine, Tom realized, had a way of lulling one into a false sense of security that was more often than not taken for granted. His own routine, for example, consisted mainly of school, Hermione, Death Eater meetings, and Hermione. Halfway through January, however, something happened that forever broke this routine.

It had been quiet. Too quiet, Tom would reflect in later days, to last indefinitely. January 17th had dawned like any other day. Tom awoke, followed shortly by Hermione; they dressed, and then proceeded to breakfast where the morning post would deliver the _Daily Prophet_ to Tom, which he very generously shared with Hermione.

But on January 17th, Tom wasn't the only one to receive mail.

A lone, black and brown barn owl soared through the Great Hall, briefly circling the Slytherin table before landing in front of Hermione with its leg outstretched for her to retrieve the scroll secured there. Frowning, she did so, absentmindedly handing the owl a strip of bacon as she opened the missive and read. As she read, though, her hands quivered, and all color drained from her face in a telling sign of shock.

He was quick to snatch the letter from Hermione's limp hands and as his eyes roved over the brief message, he felt a bolt of what could have possibly been fear strike through him.

How had he forgotten about Grindelwald?


	19. Pawns

I know, I took forever…I have no excuse and I lay myself at your feet in mercy…But remember, if you want to know how the story ends, you can't very well kill me, can you? Hopefully this chapter was worth the wait, it is a bit longer than my last few, but again, I didn't edit as well as I should have in my haste to post it for you all, so please ignore my grammar until I go back and edit…

And now, the story…

_CARPE DIEM_

Chapter 19

_Hermione Granger,_

_Forgive my impertinence for writing to you before making your acquaintance, but your reputation precedes you. Indeed, I have heard a great deal about you, or more specifically, your fleeing from me. I admit that I am very curious as to why you would take such measures to secure yourself away from me when I have never heard nor met you. What are you hiding, my dear? What secrets do you keep?_

_I'm sure that I will soon find out._

_Enjoy your time at Hogwarts, for I can assure you there is not much left of it for you._

_Wishing you well,_

_Grindelwald_

As far as letters go, it could have been worse, Hermione supposed. She was sitting across from Dumbledore, nervously worrying her lower lip as she fiddled with a lemon drop, twisting and untwisting the wrapper and eyeing him suspiciously as he silently perused the letter. She had forcefully pushed Tom out of the room after their Transfiguration class, opting to speak to her professor alone seeing as how there were many details over her current predicament she wouldn't have been able to discuss in front of him, such as the fact she was not from France.

She knew, though, that he was waiting for her outside the door.

With that thought in mind, she had cast a silencing charm. He would not hesitate to eavesdrop if the thought occurred to him (which she knew it had), and it was always better safe than sorry.

"I see the time for our talk has come sooner rather than later, Hermione," Albus sighed, setting the letter down after what felt like hours had passed.

Hermione gave an anxious nod. "What do you make of it, sir?"

Albus looked at her over his thin, wire-rimmed glasses. "Actually, I was hoping you'd give me your opinion on it."

She picked up the letter and stared at the ominous words. "Well, it seems very sporting of him to give us such an obvious warning. He's either very considerate, or not terribly bright."

"Indeed," he murmured, smiling at her wording.

"Thomas checked it for any dark spells and enchantments, but we didn't find any, so I suppose it is a warning. I think he's actually toying with me, psychologically, that is. Basically, he's telling me that he's going to come for me so that I'll constantly look over my shoulder to the point of going crazy with paranoia. Constant vigilance, my arse," she mumbled.

"Very insightful, my dear," Albus smiled indulgently. "But what, pray tell, do you suggest we do about it?"

Hermione thought the matter over. "I haven't the foggiest, but I think I'd rule out any Hogsmeade trips or late night wanderings by myself."

"To say the least, my dear. You are on the right track, though. While I have made my disapproval over your relationship with Mr. Riddle quite clear, I fear that now I am being forced to gainsay myself. You will be accompanied by him at all times, Miss Granger, and you are not to leave his supervision. I do not condone his methods or actions, but I know that he cares for you and will do his best to protect you at all costs."

He stopped and Hermione waited for him to continue. When the silence stretched, she began fiddling with her robes.

"Err, is that it? That's all you are going to say?" she asked, dumbfounded.

Albus merely smiled.

"But, Professor, there's a _madman_ hunting me and all you are suggesting I do is spend time with the _Head Boy_! I know Tom is a remarkable wizard, but he is still a student! He will not deter any attempts made to kidnap, or worse, kill me!" she shrieked, clearly horrified at his lack of action.

He nodded sagely as he murmured, "Precisely."

The one word brought her mind to a screeching halt. She blinked rapidly four times before she understood what he meant. "You're using me as bait, aren't you? You want to draw Grindelwald out of France to make him vulnerable to an attack."

He neither confirmed nor denied her suspicions, but Hermione already knew the answer.

She stood abruptly, her jaw jutting out in a curious mixture of defiance and anger. What gave him the right to gamble her life? "You do realize, of course, that I could very well die in this crazy plot of yours?" she queried, her voice rigidly tight in barely suppressed fury.

"I believe you are being melodramatic, Hermione. You are very capable, and so is Mr. Riddle. I trust you to behave as a rational adult in this matter. My trust in you is not misplaced, is it?" he lifted a brow.

"Of course it isn't," she nearly hissed. "But I'm beginning to think that mine in you is."

Albus's eyes darkened in sadness and his shoulders sank as though she had just placed the weight of the world on them. "I am deeply sorry to hear you say that, Hermione, and even more sorry that you believe it to be true."

And he did look sorry. His eyes nearly begged her to take back her harsh words, and before she even knew what she was doing, her mouth began to move forming apologetic words. She snapped it shut before she could speak them, though.

She wasn't sorry. Albus Dumbledore was a great man and a great wizard, but she knew he could only be trusted to do whatever it takes to win. Harry had been a pawn in his game, and so had Lucius and Severus. Admittedly, it was a necessary evil, but no one liked being used.

So instead of apologizing, she turned in a huff and left his office and ran straight into the chest of the Slytherin waiting for her.

Although, it was not the chest, or Slytherin for that matter, that she had been expecting.

"Watch it, Mudblood!" Abraxas Malfoy hissed in pure venom.

And whatever sympathy she had felt for him evaporated, melted away by the indignant rage that she felt coursing through her entire body.

"I will do no such thing, you git! From now on it will be you who watches where you're going!" she jabbed him in the chest with her wand.

His eyes sparked in anger and slight fear. "I hate you," he spat, shoving her away from him.

Hermione smirked. "Oh, I know you do, and believe me, the feeling is entirely mutual," she began. Suddenly, an idea flashed in her mind and before she could think it through, she spoke again, "But now, wait a second, I think there's someone you hate more than me. Someone with the audacity to defend me to someone such as you. Someone with the nerve to punish you, clearly superior being, for attacking me."

A slight twitch of his right eye, a glimmer really, belied the truth of her words and Hermione continued quickly, lest she lose his attention. "Just thinking about it makes your blood boil, doesn't Malfoy? Tom Riddle chooses a mudblood over his followers… Oh yes, I know exactly where he goes when he disappears at night, Abraxas. I know all about the- meetings," she sighed abruptly, "A shame, really. So much potential all wasted away on a mudblood. Doesn't it just make you furious?"

His hand twitched in response to her silky whispers.

"Doesn't it make you want to get even?" she finally stated, moving closer to him and whispering in his ear.

Abraxas looked unsure of himself. "What do you mean?" he asked hoarsely, shocked by her line of thinking.

"Think about it, Abraxas. Do you really want to follow such a hypocrite? Is he even worthy of such a position of power?"

He frowned. "What do you suggest?"

"Prevent him from succeeding. Whatever it takes, prevent Tom from gaining power over the Wizarding World," she said in a rush, blood coursing through her veins and flushing her nervous cheeks. "And do this by spying for me, for Albus Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore?" Malfoy questioned.

Hermione nodded. She was furious at her future Headmaster, but she was very similar to him in many aspects. She was not above manipulating others for the better good. Sacrifices, she had learned the hard way, had to be made. She thought of Sirius, Cedric, even Albus himself…many sacrifices had already been made.

"He doesn't trust Tom for a minute…I'm sure he'll reward you for your services," she shrugged, mentally shaking away her thoughts. If this was going to work, she'd have to focus entirely on the situation at hand and not on the deaths that had yet to even occur.

His eyes narrowed on her. "Your trying to manipulate me, aren't you?"

"Yes," she admitted with no shame. "But I think you chance to gain as much as I, if not more, by the arrangement."

"Like what?"

She smiled. "Revenge on Tom, for one, and you know that when he falls, I'll no longer have his protection which would very neatly take care of two birds with one stone. And with no Voldemort in the way, who knows who will be chosen to lead the Death Eaters."

She could literally see the wheels spinning in his head as he thought of all of the possibilities. She knew he was tempted, greatly so. He would have to be a fool not to see the advantages of such an arrangement.

"What do you get out of it?" he asked abruptly, still eyeing her in distaste and suspicion.

Hermione tried to calm her racing heart, but suddenly she knew that he would agree to her plan. "Let's just say that I'd prefer it if Tom renounced he's evil ways. I quite fancy him and it would be such a damper on our relationship if he tried to murder me and my kind."

He snorted, amused and disgusted by her wording. "I may be open to such an arrangement," he said tentatively, his lip curling in a sneer.

"We would, of course, require an Unbreakable Vow to ensure the sincerity and the truthfulness of your reports. You would have to swear to spy against Voldemort until such a time he is completely removed from power," an idea once again flashed before her mind and she finished speaking in a rush, "You and your line. This is a lifetime commitment, Malfoy," she smirked suddenly, "Even your grandchildren will be affected by your choice."

"Isn't that a bit drastic?" he sneered.

"No," she simply stated. "It's not."

He stared at her, his eyes slightly flickering as he mentally weighed the advantages and disadvantages of her proposition. She was holding her breath and mentally crossing her fingers. It had to work, she tried to reassure herself, because, in her time, it already had.

Hermione knew he was mainly deciding if lowering himself to work alongside a mudblood as equals was worth the potential gain. Malfoys were true Slytherins, she had learned. This was her first attempt at outright manipulation, and she knew it was not foolproof. He could turn his back and walk away. Or worse, he could tell Thomas and the latter would easily slip inside the former's mind to verify the tale. It was a huge risk she was taking, and all she had to go on was his need for revenge. Malfoys, she had also learned, never let anyone escape insulting them unscathed.

After an eternity of awkward silence in which Hermione had to remind herself to at least gulp in a few breaths of air, Abraxas curtly nodded his agreement and turned sharply on his heel and left her standing alone in the hall.

No more words were exchanged, but things were different now, but also the same. He would never like her, and Hermione thanked Merlin for that. She didn't think she could live in a world being on civil terms, being friends even, with more than one Malfoy. And she knew that she could never trust him, even with an Unbreakable Vow. Lucius may have been groomed as a spy due to the vow, but he had operated from family honor. Abraxas was agreeing to further his own agenda, nothing else. She could not forget the difference between the two.

She couldn't shake the feeling that wheels were starting to creak into motion, though, that small pieces of a puzzle were starting to fall into place and the big picture was taking shape. In other circumstances, she would have scolded herself for being so melodramatic, but these were not normal circumstances and she knew very well that she had just set many things for the future into play. The Order had not just gained one vital spy, but also future generations.

Hermione had always known that her actions in the past would affect the future and that they already had to some degree. She had tried to refrain from direct meddling, however. What she had told Harry in their third year while saving Sirius was true. Awful things happen to wizards who meddle with time.

As she stared after Malfoy's retreating back, she couldn't help but wonder what awful things would befall her. The rode to Hell was said to be paved with good intentions, is that where her path would lead her?

"Hermione," Tom greeted her, shaking her from her thoughts.

If this was Hell, then here was the Devil.

"What are you doing out here by yourself?" he snapped. He very clearly recalled telling her she was not to leave the room without him.

Hermione snorted. She cared for Thomas greatly; so great, in fact, that she had consciously refused to analyze how deeply her feelings for him went. She did not, however, care for his authoritarian attitude.

"I was waiting for you," she replied rather pointedly. "Where did you go?"

His eyes narrowed on her. Tom always seemed to know when she was hiding something from him, and Hermione was quick to put up a mental barrier should he decide to drift into her mind. She knew he had attempted to do so before, and that he would not hesitate to do it again if he thought he would get away with it.

Like a switch had been flipped, Tom's gaze cleared and his face donned its usual unreadable blankness. "First year Hufflepuffs got into a skirmish and I had to escort them to the Headmaster," he said flatly.

An awkward pause followed his explanation. Hermione's heart thudded painfully fast against her ribcage, but her expression and mind revealed nothing. She wondered vaguely if he was telling the truth, or if he had been off seeing to his Death Eaters.

She wondered if this was how life with Tom Riddle would always be like, and if this was how she would spend the rest of her days. Each of them second guessing the other, while plotting behind the other's back. Not even two years ago, Hermione would have been disgusted by the many outright secrets and lies they had told each other. A relationship, she would quite prudishly claim, was not to be based on lies, but rather honesty and mutual affection.

Had she really changed so much that she could lie to a man she was surely falling in love with on a regular basis? Or better yet, could she have changed to the point of being compatible and capable of falling in love with a wizard such as Tom Riddle?

In her mind, Hermione saw Tom divided as who he was presently, and the monster he would become. Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort were the same, and yet different. She closed her eyes and pictured them, side by side. Tom with his cold, glittering eyes and Voldemort with his piercing red ones. Red and green, Christmas colors, she noted in half amusement.

Tom had handsome, chiseled features like that of a Greek statue. He was pale skinned and dark haired, and the air around him positively crackled with charm. Then there was Voldemort who had pale, but pallid skin, and two snakelike slits where his nose should have been.

But even the drastic physical differences, Hermione could see the similarities. The way they talked, and held themselves, as if they were above everyone else. And the way power and dark magic seemed to ooze from every pore of their body.

The worse thing, though, the thing that Hermione would never admit aloud to another soul, was not that she could see a bit of Lord Voldemort in Thomas, but that she could see Tom Riddle still in the Dark Lord, and she was not repulsed by him. She could picture Lord Voldemort as she had seen him in Harry's memory and see flickers, small instances in which he'd do something, a quirk of a brow or small hand gesture, that would make her think of Tom Riddle. And there was something inside her that yearned to reach out and take his thin hand in hers and make him remember that not all Muggleborns were filth. She wanted him to remember that he had cared for, maybe even loved, her.

It was sick, she knew, and she should not associate the Tom Riddle before her with the man he would become. But the truth was, he was already, to an extent, Lord Voldemort, no matter how had she had tried to deny it when she first met him, first sought out his company, or first took his hand.

And while she would give anything to stop the murders, the death, and Harry's pain, Hermione was beginning to feel terrified that Tom would die.

She didn't want him to die, she realized with a jolt.

She didn't want Lord Voldemort to die.

Hermione blinked back the tears burning her eyes. She felt like a traitor, but even so, she could not deny that the thought of Tom Riddle being gone forever, even if he was a monster and a mere shadow of his past self, made her heart slow to a stop before shattering into a million, sparkling pieces.

The thought alone made her suddenly tackle him in a fierce hug, her arms locking around his waist as though she was afraid he'd disappear if she let him go. His arms closed securely around her, almost by instinct, and she could feel the chuckle rumbling in his chest.

But the situation wasn't funny, not in the least. Nothing would ever be the same again. She'd never see the world in the same black and white shades of her youth, which meant she would never look at Voldemort and see complete darkness. He was evil and deserved a fate worse than death for his actions, but she could see shades of gray intermingling with the black.

When the time came, and she knew it would, she would look upon Lord Voldemort and she wouldn't only see the monster he was, but the man he had been and the man he had had the potential to become.

If only things had been different. If only Tom had decided to use his knowledge and power for other pursuits…

But Hermione could not live her life in what ifs. No matter how much it broke her heart, she had to be strong. Tom Riddle would become Lord Voldemort, time had already proved as much, so all Hermione could do was use whatever time was left with her Thomas to her advantage.

Hermione pulled away from his embrace, a watery smile tugging her lips up in a poor attempt to grin. "I'm sorry for being silly. I just get scared, you know, thinking about the future has in store for me." _For us_, she added mentally.

She had said it to be deliberately misleading to make Tom assume she was referring to Grindelwald. And while it was true that she was frightened of what that dark wizard had in store for her, it paled in comparison to the worry she felt about having to face the Lord Voldemort of her time. She didn't doubt for one minute that he had known who she was all along and had been merely waiting for the other shoe to drop, as it were.

What would he do to her? Kill her? Torture her?

Hermione supposed it didn't really matter what he did, although she thought death and torture would be rather cliché for him. No, Lord Voldemort was far more creative than that…

All that really mattered was her time with Tom Riddle now, and how she could use it to the Order's advantage. Gaining Abraxas Malfoy as a spy had certainly been a start, but she was sure there was more she could do to help Harry, or even to help Tom himself.

After all, the prophecy had not specifically stated that either he or Harry had to die, only that neither can live while the other survives. Prophecies were always vague and misleading, which was part of the reason why she loathed divination so much.

There may be hope yet. She knew it was foolish to hope she could save Tom Riddle, but as she watched him smile ever so slightly down at her, his right hand caressing her cheek lightly, she vowed to do whatever she could to banish Lord Voldemort while keeping Thomas safe. She lived in a world of magic, anything was possible.

Although she was forced to concede that it was not very probable.

And so Hermione would do what she did best. Research and plan for all possible outcomes to the mess she found herself in. She would prepare for the worse, but still hope for the best. She'd send an owl to Dumbledore about Malfoy, but she'd still act like she knew nothing about Tom's Death Eaters. She would stand beside Harry, even though her heart was being tugged to Tom.

Hermione would be loyal to the Order, and yet devoted to Tom Riddle. She would play both sides of the field, but still always come back to the side of light. And she certainly wouldn't be above manipulating the other Slytherins into giving away any pertinent information.

She had changed much from the delusional little girl she had been when she first came to Hogwarts. She still fought tirelessly to protect those that could not protect themselves, but she also saw the bigger picture now. She saw beyond the choices of what was right and wrong, and into the grey area of choosing what _had_ to be done. And she'd do anything to protect those she loved- Harry, Ron, Severus, Lucius…

Even Tom Riddle...

Sacrifices had to be made and in the grand scheme of things, they were all merely pawns to be used in Fate's game of life. She wasn't above sacrificing a few pawns for the greater good.

And if that made her no better than Albus Dumbledore, then so be it.


	20. A Proposal

This chapter sets up the action for some of the main, pivotal points in this story. As such, I hope you'll excuse the long wait…Enjoy this bit with my guarantee that the next chapter may be out sooner than you think…

_Carpe Diem_

_Chapter 20_

It happened on Valentine's Day.

Tom never had a girlfriend before. He never saw the need for one. For him, girls were a distraction- sometimes an entertaining one, but a distraction nonetheless. And if there was one thing Tom had absolutely no need for, it was distractions.

Hermione Granger was not his girlfriend. Tom would never presume to give her such a superficial label. He supposed if one pressed the matter, he would claim they were an item, which seemed to be a bit of an understatement. He would never deny that there was _something_ there- the same something that made normal teenagers boyfriend and girlfriend. But Tom had never been normal.

And so, he refused to label Hermione Granger as his girlfriend. Tom Riddle did not have girlfriends. And while Hermione was certainly a distraction, she was also much more than that to him, or at least, she had the potential to be.

He'd marry her after graduation. It'd be much easier to influence her as her husband. Much easier to mold her to his liking.

He'd be able to protect her better if she became his wife.

At least, that's how he justified his decision to propose to her that Valentine's Day. It wasn't because he overly cared for her, and it wasn't because he feared losing her come graduation. And it most certainly had nothing to do with the twinge he felt in his gut when he saw her talking, quite amiably, with Benjamin Weasley.

No, Tom thought as he gnashed his teeth in addition to the glittering beetle eyes required for his potion, it wasn't because he was jealous.

The first time he had spotted Hermione chatting with Weasley, he had only felt mild surprise that someone from Gryffindor house would approach her. It appeared that Minerva had introduced them during one of their Defense lessons while he was off with that Hufflepuff boy. He hadn't thought much of it at first, but then Hermione began mentioning him in passing during their conversations.

"_Oh, Ben Weasley told me…"_

"_Ben said that…"_

Things only got worse when she was introduced to Weasley's best friend, Harold Potter.

"_And then, Harry Potter said…"_

"_Harry Potter said the funniest thing, Tom!"_

"_Harry…"_

"_Harry…"_

Every time she made reference to the dark haired bespectacled boy, Tom couldn't help but think back to the form the boggart had taken when it faced Hermione; the form of a boy who looked remarkably similar to Harold Potter. They even had the same first name.

And even though he knew it was ridiculous, even as he resisted against it, when he heard Hermione talk about Potter he couldn't help but hear the echo of her voice as she crumbled before the boggart and gasped a single word, a name really, in sharp longing.

"_Harry_…" she had murmured as though the name had been a prayer.

It was for that reason alone that Tom hated Harry Potter more than Ben Weasley; Hermione seemed to like him best.

She appeared right at home standing in between the two Gryffindors, Minerva standing across from them as they all laughed at some joke. Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad if he knew what they had been laughing about, but once he finished his work with that Hufflepuff boy (he couldn't be bothered to remember his name) and went over to where they were standing, their laughter had trickled off and Hermione had merely excused herself from the group to gather her belongings.

He had stood amongst the Gryffindors in awkward silence, his hard eyes piercing the boys in a cold, blank glare. They shuffled under his stare and the tension was only broken when Hermione came to his side, her hand slipping into his as she bid her Gryffindor cronies farewell.

Tom had smirked at Potter and Weasley's parting glares, and had made sure to slip a possessive arm around Hermione's waist as they left the classroom. Stupid Gryffindors.

He wasn't used to Hermione having others to talk to. For so long she had depended on him, had only him. But now, with Minerva's help, people were starting to forget why they had avoided her. He wasn't the only person she could talk to now.

Would she stay with him, now that she had other acquaintances that didn't run from her? Or would she abandon him for Potter?

He had to claim her, mark her as his so that no one, not even she, would forget that she belonged to him.

They belonged together.

It was with this plan in mind that Tom purchased a ring. It was a thin gold band with a single solitaire diamond, simple yet beautiful. It was, in fact, very much like Hermione herself. Plain, but at a second glance one could see a fire sparkling in the heart of the jewel. It would look nice on her finger, shinning in the sunlight to serve as a reminder to all that she was his.

Tom always had an obsession with branding those that belonged to him.

Today would be perfect to ask her, ideal really. Hermione seemed to be in a good enough mood as of late. They had neither seen nor heard from Grindelwald, Malfoy had been uncharacteristically subdued, Dumbledore merely regarded them with a cautious stare, and Hermione seemed to be laughing more now that she and Minerva had become somewhat friendly. And Valentine's Day was certainly supposed to be romantic.

It would be perfect, Tom concluded. He'd ask her to marry him, she'd accept, once they graduated they'd seal the deal, and then he would forbid her any contact with those foolish Gryffindor boys. He'd rise to power and yet Hermione would remain safe as his wife. If he was feeling particularly generous, he might even ensure that McGonagall remained unscathed in his transition to power since Hermione seemed to be fond of her. He was a very generous man.

Except, Tom had never asked anyone for anything before. He took, he stole, he demanded, and he threatened, but he had never asked. And Hermione did not react well at all to being told about her upcoming nuptials.

"What?" the smile froze on her face.

"I said we will marry after graduation."

A strange flickering of emotion crossed her face. Confusion, anger, longing…love…

Tom ignored the warmth that flooded his being at that last one.

"But- you haven't asked me yet," she pointed out in a dazed, confused voice.

Tom frowned. Why would he need to ask her? They both knew that anything between them would be deeper than a school crush. On some level he had always assumed they would wed and he was certain that she had assumed so as well.

"Don't you want to be with me?" he countered.

She bit her lip. "What I want is to know that I can choose to be with you, not have you tell me I'm going to."

Tom scoffed. "That's ridiculous. You had to have known we would get married."

Hermione's mouth opened and closed in an unflattering imitation of a fish. There was a fire building in her eyes, though, and Tom began to grow wary. Perhaps he had gone about this the wrong way. The illusion of choice would have comforted her far more than anything else he had already done.

As he lost himself in his thoughts on how to rectify his current predicament, Hermione finally regained her ability to speak.

"Thomas, do you love me?"

Everything about Tom froze. Of course he didn't love her. He was incapable of it. But he knew he couldn't very well tell her that. Everything he had worked towards with Hermione was hanging in the balance. If it wasn't for that Potter boy and his friend, he wouldn't be in this situation. He wouldn't have had to accelerate his plans.

He wouldn't have to answer such a point blank question.

Now he had to lie to her.

"I do- don't want to lie to you, Hermione," he found himself saying instead of the outright lie that still hung on his tongue.

Hermione nodded to herself, her eyes not meeting his. He could almost see the distance growing between them, a gaping hole of darkness yawning and stretching. He had hurt her, but that was not what bothered him. What really bothered Tom was Hermione's lack of surprise over her hurt.

She had been expecting him to hurt her, he realized.

And for some reason, that bothered him more than anything else.

"I am not as ignorant as you seem to see me as, Thomas," she began softly, her eyes sad and knowing. "I've always known that love was something you would never be able to give me, even if that is the one thing..." she trialed off, not wanting to give voice to such a though. She continued in a stronger voice, "I understand that; it's simply in your nature. I accept that. I accept you. But I will not enter a loveless marriage. I deserve better than that. I'm not going anywhere, Thomas. You don't have to ask me to marry you to ensure that."

Anger began to simmer beneath his calm expression. She was saying no. She didn't want to marry him.

Why wouldn't she? He was Head Boy, top of their class (a position he now shared with her).

She should be begging him to marry her.

"I want to marry you," he ground out.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "I don't want to marry you."

Unable to remain still any longer, Tom took three steps to close the gap between them, thankful that he had at least had the sense to corner her in their Common Room and away from prying eyes. His hands wrapped firmly around her upper arms and he resisted the urge to shake some sense into her. "You _will_ marry me," he growled.

Her eyes glittered. "I won't."

Tom gave her one harsh shake. "Don't defy me, Hermione. You will do as you're told."

Lifting her arms as best as she could with his fierce hold on them, Hermione shoved him away from her. "Don't pull that crap with me, Thomas. We both know I'm not like everyone else at your service."

"No," he murmured, his eyes flashing strangely at her. "You're not like everyone else."

His anger seemed to evaporate as he stared at her, his eyes hard and unreadable, hers brimming with tears that her stubbornness refused to let fall. His lip quirked at the sight. Always so strong…

They were standing on the brink of something important, hovering on the cusp of a moment that would seal both of their fates forever. There were two paths Tom could choose. One was even, dark and twisted, but an easy route- one that he had already begun to tread. The other was just as dark, just as twisted, but unlike the other, it had a steady incline which indicated more work, but at the end of that road were two things. The power he had always craved, dark and wonderful, that would make him unstoppable. And Hermione. Hermione smiling at him with her eyes even as her lips formed a small unfamiliar sneer. She was the same, and yet different.

She was what he had hoped she could become. She was dark and light, powerful but merciful, a perfect blend of white and black. She was his Lady.

And Merlin help him, he wanted her. He wanted that future more than anything he had ever craved for in his life. He may not love her, probably never will. A person of his nature did not know how to love.

But he wanted her. He needed her.

And damn it all to hell, two out of three wasn't bad.

It was with this thought that Tom turned from the first path, as sure and as easy it was, and chose the second. He chose Hermione.

His hands returned to her arms again, but only to caress them in soothing circles and feather light touches. He closed the distance between them, tilting his head down as she instinctively tilted hers back, their eyes never breaking contact even though Tom's gaze flickered slightly when Hermione unconsciously licked her lips nervously.

Right before their lips connected Tom felt a soft breath of air as Hermione sighed against him, and he knew, in that small instant before he lost himself in the smoothness of her lips, that Hermione would submit to him. His will was far stronger than hers.

And indeed, Hermione did know this. Even as her lips fought against Tom's for supremacy and even as her fingers unconsciously went to his silken hair in a sign of submission. She knew that life with Tom would be constantly filled with battles she would only ever win if he so deemed it.

But instead of accepting the futility of her situation, Hermione's anger lashed out against it like a lion that fought even though it had already been caged. Tom had been right in his thinking before. Hermione may not have a choice anymore, but the illusion of choice would have comforted her more than anything else.

It was the Gryffindor in her that forced her to wrench away from the warm embrace. She would always fight against him, always fighting a losing battle.

And Tom loved that about her.

"Don't," she gasped as she scurried to the farthest corner in the Common Room.

Tom smirked. "Don't what?"

"Don't play games with me, Thomas Marvolo Riddle," she hissed furiously, her anger and shame heating her face in a telling blush.

"But you're so adept at them," he pointed out.

"I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!" her shouting made her all the angrier in its futility.

"Are you telling me or convincing yourself?"

She growled. "Is this what it's always going to be like, Tom? Both of us pushing and pulling, but never able to let our guard down around the other? One exhausting battle after another? Are you ever going to let me in?"

"Let you in where?"

Hermione stared at him for a long moment. "If you have to ask that, then I suppose I already have my answer."

"Listen to yourself. You're being ridiculous. You're smarter than this, Hermione. Don't be a fool," he sneered.

"A fool, am I?" she asked, tears thickening her voice and making it waver. "Maybe I am. Maybe I was foolish to think you'd ever trust me, or care for me."

Tom was taken aback by the bitterness that poisoned her words. "I do care for you," he insisted. It was true. He cared for her above all others.

But as he watched her swallow the lump in her throat, he realized he could never give her the kind of love she really wanted.

_The kind she deserves_, the thought rose unbidden in his mind.

Hermione sniffled, sweeping away her tears with a sense of finality. "But not enough it seems."

She turned from him and marched determinedly to the portrait.

"Where are you going?" the question came out sharper than he intended.

"Away," she whispered.

Bile rose up from his stomach to choke him. "Away from me?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"Not from you, Tom," she sighed. "No matter where I go or how far I run, you'll always be there. I just need to go and think for a while. I need to be alone."

Unbidden, the thought that she was leaving him to go and see her new Gryffindor friends arose, but he wisely gave no gave no voice to the petty thought. He had to backtrack and regroup now that he had so royally bundled their current situation.

"You shouldn't be alone. It's not safe," he stated.

She looked at him, her eyes cutting through his cool façade. "I'll be fine. I'll be back tonight." And she turned and left him there, standing alone in their Common Room.

But Hermione had lied to him. She didn't come back that night, nor did she return the night after. She did not show up for classes or meals, and her favorite table in the library remained empty.

Three days went by in which he excused her absence by telling himself she was pouting. She had to be avoiding him because she had realized her error, realized that he had been right all along.

On the fourth day, Albus Dumbledore received a new note from Grindelwald, accompanied by a lock of frizzy, caramel brown hair.


	21. Eight Days

I TOLD YOU IT WOULD COME SOONER!!! SURPRISE!!!

CARPE DIEM 

_Chapter 21_

What she needed was a plan.

Hermione idly tossed a pebble across the cell, listening to it clicking against dirty stone floor in satisfaction.

Preferably one that did not result in certain death.

She rubbed her temples in an attempt to fend of the ache and sleep that threatened to overwhelm her senses. There would be time to sleep and heal later, but right now, she needed to keep her wits about her.

She had been near the Quidditch field when they had taken her. Stupid, really, she never should have let her guard down. She should have known better.

But what's done is done. There was no use dwelling on her stupidity. It was time to use those famed smarts of hers to come up with a plan of escape.

So what did she know for certain about her current predicament?

There had been four of them. Four tall wizards whose features had been obscured from the darkness of the night sky. She'd managed to stun the first two before she was hit by a stunning charm by one of the remaining wizards, and a body bind by the last.

It was no wonder her head was still throbbing.

When she had awoken (hours, mayhap days later) she had been in here, a holding cell of some sort. The room was small, only slightly larger than a broom closet, and dirty. Dust and rocks made for an uncomfortable bed, and only a slim sliver of light illuminated her prison through the cracks of the door.

How long had she been there for? One day, two? A week, maybe? She had no way of telling the time except for the instances when her cell door was opened and someone threw in a plate filled of what she assumed to be food. She never ate it, though. She may have gone and gotten herself kidnapped, but Hermione was still a bright girl. She knew the only food they'd give her would be poisoned.

Or worse. She shuttered at the idea of being slipped veritaserum. Severus had taught her well enough to know that there could be no overcoming that particular potion and its effects.

So Hermione counted the time by the plates of poisoned food they gave her. She assumed they gave her one plate a day (it was the most logical assumption) and in the rotting pile of spoiled food by the door she had counted three plates.

Three days of no food or water. Three days of little sleep and no light.

Three days without Thomas.

She wondered, in an effort to pass the time, what he was doing. Was he still cross with her? Was he thankful for her absence? Did he know what had happened to her or did her think she had returned to her "home"?

Such questions were futile. There was no way she'd ever know the answers and that realization tortured her more than her growling, empty stomach. Hermione hated not having the answers to a question.

Although she did know, or maybe it was only a hope of hers, that when Tom discovered what had happened to her, his retribution would be swift and painful. It didn't mattered that they had quarreled. He saw her as his and he would go to any lengths to ensure that she returned to his side.

A part of Hermione reveled in this. He didn't love her, but he could someday. She had seen that fact in his eyes as they fought. He still needed her. He wanted her. And Tom Riddle always got what he wanted.

Hermione had never been so thankful for that fact.

But there was still a larger part that was horrified, too. Lord Voldemort wanted Severus to guard her. To keep her safe if necessary. Was he waiting for her, in the future? The girl from his past whom he had asked to marry…

The girl who had refused him.

The girl that had said no even though a part of her had screamed yes.

It seemed like such a silly argument now. At the time all she could feel was righteous indignation that he would condescend to _tell_ her of their upcoming nuptials. She had never been taken with such girlish fantasies of a Prince Charming and a white wedding, but there had always been some expectation about how she would be proposed to. Mainly, being sweetly asked from love.

But she had not been lying when she told Tom she accepted him. She knew that he had never asked anyone for anything before. It was not in his nature to go down on one knee while professing his undying love.

And when she was honest with herself she could admit that was the last thing she wanted him to do. Time had already decided Tom's fate. Did she really want the undying love of a man who would murder her best friends parents?

That thought didn't stop the ache in her heart, though. It didn't make her heart stop bleeding or stop wishing that she was at home with Tom.

Hermione's heart constricted. She had been lost in the past, separated from her friends for so long now that she no longer looked to the future as her home. Home was now with Tom. That was the only home she had anymore.

That realization came on her fourth day of imprisonment. On the fifth, the door opened like normal, but instead of a plate being casually thrown inside, her unseen jailer set down a tall glass filled with water.

She stared longingly at the goblet, licking her chapped lips and swallowing dryly.

_Go ahead and try to poison me. If you manage to succeed it will only make him angrier_, she smirked, her thoughts turning punchy as consciousness finally slipped away and Hermione succumbed to the deceptively innocent embrace of sleep on the sixth day.

On the seventh day of Hermione Granger's absence, Albus Dumbledore bid Tom to stay after class.

"Mr. Riddle, a word if you please?"

Tom glared at the professor, but remained seated as his classmates filed out of the room while shooting him curious glances. His peers had given him a wide berth since the beginning of the week when it had been apparent that something was wrong. His usually cool manner and charming smile were nowhere to be seen. His mood ran hot and cold, and his patience was nonexistent.

His Death Eaters had borne the brunt of his anger. Hermione was gone. No one knew where she had disappeared to, but it was unanimously accepted that Grindelwald was behind it all. They were supposed to be watching her, he had raged after her disappearance. They had failed him.

And there were consequences to failing Lord Voldemort.

No one had left that meeting without being cursed, usually with _Crucio_, at least twice.

They had never seen Tom behave in such a manner before. They had seen him angry, sure, but his current rage went beyond anything they had ever seen. Something seemed to have snapped deep inside his mind. He was quick to anger at their meetings, and even quicker to strike out in that anger. They had always respected and revered their leader, but as each day passed and no sign was seen of his mudblood, Tom would unleash his pent up frustrations on his followers. Being on the receiving end of Tom's wand was something they all feared now. Lord Voldemort wasn't only to be respected, not anymore. He was to be obeyed at all costs.

And it was now, after the trap had sprung, that they finally understood Tom Riddle's game. He might have laid out the trap, but they had cheerfully pulled the trigger. There was no escaping, not for any of them.

Abraxas had been right.

One lone Death Eater had dared to admit so aloud at one of their meetings, the third after Hermione Granger's disappearance. Lord Voldemort had smiled coldly, his eyes glittering in the darkness as he silently lifted his wand and killed him in a flash of green light without having uttered a single syllable.

The green light of the killing curse had reflected in his hard eyes and tinted his skin a vivid green in a terrifying show of power. They all felt the sheer power of the curse shivering over them as though it was only by Tom's will that they remained unscathed. They were at his mercy now. Evil, they had all shuttered, but amazing…

And if the mudblood would keep them from suffering the same fate as their fallen brother, then not even Abraxas Malfoy would resent her presence in their circle. Not anymore.

They had diligently moved the body of their comrade to the Dark Forest, staging his death. Devon Felton had snuck out of the school for drinks at Hogsmeade. He drank a spot too much and had wondered into the Forbidden Forest on his way home. Poor chap was attacked and killed by werewolf.

A tragic end for one so young.

But still less terrifying than the truth.

No one suspected the real murderer. No one but Albus.

"Tell me, Tom, have you heard any word of Miss Granger's whereabouts?" Albus asked as soon as he and Tom had settled in his office.

"No sir," was Tom's clipped reply.

Albus cocked his head as he studied the Head Boy. Tom wasn't even attempting to charm him, and that alone was enough to tip Albus off that something was wrong. It had been clear after the first day of Hermione's absence that Tom was upset, although Albus had questioned, more than once, the sincerity of Tom Riddle's emotions when it came to his time traveling friend.

Was he merely angry that his latest toy had left him? Or did his anger stem for a genuine concern for her?

Albus had to know the truth before he decided whether or not to continue with his plans.

"I see," he murmured. "I merely ask because I revently received a note rather similar to one that Hermione herself received not some time ago."

A flicker behind his hard eyes, gone so fast that Albus thought that perhaps he imagined it.

"A note?" Tom asked in an air of indifference.

"Yes, a note. Would you like to read it?"

Tom already had his hand extended expectantly before Albus finished asking. Silently, he placed the slip of parchment and the lock of hair into his hand.

_Missing something, old friend?_

Tom's eyes darkened as he read the single line scrawled across the page, his finger softly caressing the lock of Hermione's hair.

"When did you receive this?"

_How long have you kept this from me_, was the unspoken question.

"Three days ago," Albus replied.

"You've known about this for three days and have done nothing!" Tom spat, anger finally breaking his cold persona.

_Ah, finally a reaction. And the one I was hoping for, too_, Albus smiled slightly.

"You're smiling? She's out there being tortured and you're _smiling_?"

A strange rumbling filled the room as Tom's anger grew at the sight of Albus's smile. Interesting. Apparently the boy was more dangerous than Albus had originally thought.

"Calm yourself, child. I've spent the past three days attempting to narrow down her location. I'm sure you're aware that I've been a prominent figure fighting against Grindelwald. As such, I have many sources that needed to be contacted. Unfortunately, Hermione's location seems to be top secret and not one of my sources know where he is keeping her."

Tom's anger deflated and his cold mask was firmly in place again. "Why are you telling me this?"

Albus cocked his head. "There are ways, Mr. Riddle, spells to find that which we have lost. Such spells, however, are dangerous and require much of the caster. Why, I believe one of the most effective incantations requires something very important from the caster."

"What is that?"

"I've reached a dead end, Tom," Albus stated. "These spells that I speak of all require that the missing person hold a piece or some part of the caster with them. Not something physical, however. Tell, Mr. Riddle, does Miss Granger hold a part of you?"

Albus waited patiently as Tom's brilliant mind worked through his words.

Did she hold a part of him, Tom wondered. His heart, perhaps? A memory surfaced from Christmas morning. Hermione smiling sweetly as she clasped the locket around her neck.

Oh yes, she held a part of him.

She held a part of his soul.

He could cast the spell. He could find her.

He would have to work alongside Albus Dumbledore, but together, they would find Hermione.

"Yes, sir, she does," Tom whispered.

Albus smiled again, although his eyes lacked the twinkle that usually resided in them. "I thought she might, Tom. I thought she might."

"When do we leave?"

Albus sighed. He had hoped rescuing Hermione would not require Tom's involvement, but desperate times cal for desperate measures. And besides, Albus was starting to realize that nothing would keep Tom Riddle from Hermione Granger.

"In the morning, Tom. I'll need the night to prepare, but we'll leave first thing in the morning."

As such, it was on the eighth day of Hermione's absence that Albus Dumbledore left Hogwarts castle accompanied by Tom Riddle. It was on the eighth day that their rescue mission began.

It was also on the eighth day that Hermione's cell door opened, the sudden flood of light stirring her from her slumber. No food or water was left for her to ignore. Instead, her unseen jailor hauled her out of her cell and led her down the hall and up a flight of stairs only to throw her into a new room.

This room, unlike her previous one, was not empty.

On the eighth day of her capture, Hermione Granger came face to face with Grindelwald.


	22. Future Unfolding

_Carpe Diem_

_Chapter 22_

Hermione Granger's rescue was a memory filled with gaping holes and blurred images. She wouldn't be able to recall much as the years began to fade; instead, all Hermione would remember of that fateful night were some fuzzy pictures tinted with vague impressions of fear, pain, and oddly enough, comfort.

She had already been half-unconscious by the time her jailor had thrown her into her new prison. Dehydration and hunger had caused her head to spin constantly and her vision to blur. Her first glimpse of Grindelwald, however, she would always recall. She remembered thinking someone had created him using a ruler, for he seemed to be uncommonly tall and thin, and his facial features were hard, his nose a fiercely straight line. He was clean shaven, and paler than Severus. His eyes were a sickly shade of yellow that made her skin quiver in disgust.

There was a gap here in which Hermione assumed she had been tortured in a fashion. The Hogwarts mediwitch had confirmed that evidence of two unforgivables was found, in addition to a variety of scars from slicing hexes. If she thought about it hard enough, Hermione could hear a flat, uncaring voice asking questions she had no answers for, said voice growing steadily angrier as she left each question unanswered.

She passed out once again, and the next thing she could recall was waking up as someone forced Veritaserum down her throat. The sweet, sticky potion reminded her of cough syrup and even though her mind had screamed to spit it out, her throat, which had been denied any liquid for far too long, convulsively swallowed.

More questions followed, all of which Hermione answered truthfully causing Grindelwald to grow even more frustrated. Every answer she gave only led to more questions about why she had fled from him.

She didn't recall every question he asked, of course, although she would never forget the one that brought on a terrible epiphany for the dark wizard.

"I don't understand! You haven't been near Germany or France, you were born in England! How have you even heard of me?" he snapped, his flat voice breaking as he ended in an angry roar.

And to her utter horror she had answered, in all honesty, "I read about you in _Hogwarts, A History_."

Needless to say, this had piqued his interest terribly.

There was another blur, then, followed by realization dawning on him as he shrewdly asked her what year she had been born in. Of course, she would have been finished there, her secret uncovered, but that was when Albus arrived with Thomas in tow.

There was a surprising surge of heat from her forgotten locket as it flared to life and began to glow and hum. Hermione barely had anytime to register what was happening before Tom was there in the same room as her.

And while the majority of that night passed in swirls of blurred figures and dull pain, Hermione would never forget the moment her eyes connected with Tom's.

His eyes were empty, hard shells that were filled with a cold hatred that made her shiver even though it was not directed at her. His wand was gripped firmly in his right fist, but was held steady in a confidence that was frightening in its surety. His clenched jaw was the only sign that gave any indication of his anger, followed closely by the slight narrowing of his eyes as they scanned over her in the same manner as when he studied her after her duel with Abraxas Malfoy.

Looking at him, she didn't know what to do or say. Part of her felt relieved knowing that she would be fine now, Tom would not let anything happen to her. But even through the red haze of pain Hermione was focused enough to realize it wasn't really Thomas staring detachedly at her. As she lost herself in his eyes, she could see only black. There were no green flecks around the irises, and no light shining through.

There was only a darkness that tugged at her, pulling her further in to his black eyes as he performed Legimancy on her. He focused only on her eight days as being captive, for which Hermione should have been grateful for since she knew that had he decided to delve deeper and look into her past there was not a thing she could have done to stop him. As it was, she did not feel relief, but instead she felt acceptance, and, to her shame, satisfaction, as she read the intent lurking behind his black eyes.

Tom was going to kill Grindelwald.

And before she could even react to the notion, before could analyze the strange sense of justice she felt, he did.

Dumbledore and Grindelwald had been talking while Hermione lost herself in Tom's darkness. What they said would only be known to them, for no sooner had Tom broken the link to her mind did he turn swiftly to them, lift his wand and state, rather casually, "_Avada Kedavra_."

Hermione squinted as the green death streaked across the room and connected with its intended victim. And Grindewald, the most feared and darkest wizard of his time, fell dead to the floor, his wide eyes staring unerringly at her.

Hermione screamed.

Tom was quick to kneel at her side, gathering her weak and shaking form into his long arms as he mutely held her in silent comfort. The darkness had receded slightly from his eyes and they stared down at her under his furrowed brow, now only dark green.

And strangely enough, her shaking subsided, and her heart rate calmed and Hermione found comfort in the arms of a murderer.

Albus Dumbledore crossed to them and stared at them silently, his twinkling eyes grim and forlorn. "We must get you to the Hospital Wing, Hermione," he said quietly, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

She did not dignify his statement with a response. There was really nothing for her to say.

Tom helped her to stand and activated the portkey she assumed Albus had given to him beforehand. There was a familiar fish hook feeling behind her naval and in another blur Hermione found herself in the Hospital Wing where the matron set upon her immediately.

Thomas remained by her side keeping a silent vigil over her. When the nurse completed her ministrations, she had turned to dismiss Tom, but one look from him that was followed up by a casually lifted brow immediately silenced her and she hustled away.

The silence stretched between them filled by Hermione's even breathing. She was about to drift off to sleep when Tom finally spoke.

"Do you love me, Hermione?"

Hermione closed her eyes, but the tears hovering on her lashes still fell. She knew that he was only asking because she was still under the effects of Veritaserum and she hated him for being able to take advantage of her in such a situation.

But not enough to respond in the negative. "Yes," she whispered honestly, her voice hoarse from lack of use and filled with resentful tears.

He was still not done.

"And you will marry me after graduation?" he persisted, still technically a question in order to force her honest response, but sounding more like a demand.

Hermione's eyes fell shut; she couldn't bear to look at him. "Yes," her voice cracked.

He said nothing more, but as Hermione drifted into sleep again, she heard a soft rustle of fabric and then felt his hand connect with hers, the cool fingers caressing her palm in soothing circles.

And despite her anger and resentment, Hermione curled her fingers through his and was lulled into sleep by the comforting knowledge that Tom would keep her safe through the night.

When she awoke the following morning she found that Thomas's chair was now occupied by Albus Dumbledore.

"Good morning," he greeted softly.

Hermione squinted against the bright late morning light and bit back a moan as her vision tilted dangerously.

"Drink this, now," Albus murmured, pressing a goblet to her lips. "It'll help with the pain."

She drank obediently, idly wondering why all medicine, wizard and muggle alike, tasted terrible. After finishing the healing potion, Hermione was able to sit up properly in bed with minimal help from Albus. They sat in silence for a few moments, each gathering their thoughts.

"How are you feeling?" Albus inquired.

Hermione frowned. "Fine," she lied.

"It pleases me to hear that," Albus smiled.

There was another pause.

"How did you find me?" she whispered.

"I didn't find you, Tom did," he frowned over Tom's name.

She thought back to her rescue the night before and recalled the sudden surge of heat and light she had felt shoot through her locket. Absently, her hand went to the now cold metal trinket, her fingers gliding across it in a lover's caress.

"I see," she murmured lowly.

Albus frowned at her. "Yes, I believe you are beginning to see now."

The mood between them shifted, and Hermione knew that they were no longer talking about her plight with Grindelwald.

"The time is upon us, Hermione. I believe that if you search within yourself, you will find the answers that you seek."

Dread poured over her. Her heart came to a shuddering halt as she realized what he was implying.

Words, her own thoughts, echoed distantly in her befuddled mind as she recalled herself pacing, years ago it now seemed, in an empty hallway.

_I need answers_. _I need to go someplace where I can be safe and find the answers I seek, a place where no one can reach me…_

The answers to a question she had known all along, but her mind still stubbornly refused to admit.

"I don't know what you are talking about," she bit off, her lips folded into a tight line of anger and fear.

He looked at her from over the rims of his Grandfatherly spectacles. "Don't you?"

She swallowed nervously, but the lump of fear remained solidly lodged into her throat. "Please," her voice quivered. "Please don't."

She hated that she was begging.

Albus sighed sadly. "I truly am sorry, Hermione. As I've told you before, I do not envy your position. You have forgotten your rightful place. You have forgotten your true home."

Tears gathered in her eyes as her heart unfroze and began to beat wildly inside her chest. "I haven't forgotten," she assured him desperately. "Please Albus, I haven't forgotten! I won't forget!"

He shook his head. "But you have, my dear. You already have. It is no fault of your own. We humans are but slaves to our own emotions."

She was crying earnestly now, but in her frazzled state she did not register the tears falling from her eyes. "Not yet, Albus. It's too soon."

He smiled at her, and Hermione hated him because she could clearly read the pity in his eyes. "Too soon, you say, and too late says I."

"What is too late?" asked a clipped, hard voice.

Hermione jolted, her wide eyes finding Tom as he leisurely approached her bed. _Please_, her mentally screamed_, get me away from him before he takes me away from you_.

"Come Hermione," he stated coolly, "Madam Favare says I may take you to your room as long as you promise to take your potions every night for a fortnight."

She bit her lip and nodded. She would have agreed to anything at that moment to escape from Albus.

At the thought of Albus, her eyes unconsciously connected with his. Their gazes clashed as a silent battle of wills progressed. She wouldn't be the first to break, she vowed. It was not his place to force her anywhere.

After a minute, Albus dropped his eyes in defeat. "I have already lost you, and you have lost yourself," he told her, his disappointment clear in his words and slumped posture. "Not yet, Hermione. But soon. Use what time you have left wisely," he advised, leaving Hermione in Tom's care.

She swallowed nervously. Ignoring Tom as he helped her to stand and fed her another disgusting potion, Hermione lost herself in her thoughts as they walked through the empty halls of Hogwarts. He brought her to the Heads' Common Room in silence, muttering a dark '_carpe diem'_ to Helga who obediently swung open. They took the stairs slowly, stopping every fourth or so in order for Hermione to catch her breath.

Walking into their room, Hermione let her rigid posture relax as her tension melted away. She felt so safe and utterly at home as she looked around, smiling slightly as she saw Lu and Nagini sun bathing on a rock paperweight by their window.

"Are we going to talk about what happened?" Tom asked mildly, smirking lightly in that knowing way of his.

She wondered whether he was referring to the scene he had intruded upon in the Hospital Wing, her capture, or their argument before her disappearance. It seemed that there was so much to talk about that she didn't know where to begin. Her days with him were now numbered and she was suddenly vitally aware of her own mortality, almost as though she could hear a faint ticking sound of a clock counting down as her time started drain away.

The old Hermione would have talked about what had happened. She would have made a list of every point they needed to cover and analyze every event that had brought them to this one moment where he stood before her now, smirking in an almost friendly manner. The old Hermione would have even color coded each point in order of most important to least.

But time had a way of changing people, and she was no longer the old Hermione. She was something new now, someone who was aware of the frailty and precariousness of her own existence.

"No," she stated firmly. "I don't believe we will."

His frown changed into another smirk as she moved to embrace him. All thoughts were abandoned as their lips connected, fitting together so perfectly one would have thought they were made for each other.

And for the first time, Hermione allowed Tom's hands to wander where they had never been before, and she felt the courage to allow hers to do the same. Words and logic abandoned her and Hermione lost herself in the moment as one does in a movie. She knew this moment was big and would have the power to lead to something beautiful or terrible, but she was helpless to stop herself.

As Albus had said, she was a slave to her emotions.

"Say you love me," Tom commanded harshly against her lips, his arms gripping her as though he was afraid she would disappear again.

She felt him take a step forward, leading her to where she assumed the bed was. "I love you," she whispered. She felt awe and despair collide within her at the truth of her words and felt as though giving voice to her emotions had now sealed her fate.

Her legs connected with the bed and she fell back onto it, neither surprised nor scared. Tom came down over her, his mouth moving more ferociously against hers.

"You are _mine_," he hissed against her neck, leaving tiny love marks above her jugular. "Say it."

She kissed him back just as hard as he kissed her, her back arching as his hand slipped under her. "_You are mine_," she purred.

He stiffened and sat up, his weight supported by the palms of his hands on either side of her head. His eyes were black again, but instead of ice they were pools of swirling warmth that made her stomach shiver in desire.

Tom did not say it, but at that moment, Hermione knew. He told her with his lips, his tongue, and his hands what words could not say. Words were not necessary because she could see it swirling in his black eyes.

He _was_ hers.

And she was his.

She felt part of herself being pulled into him as his eyes, his beautiful, black eyes beckoned to her, like the sirens that lured lost travelers to their doom. She was on the precipice that would decide not only her future, but the future for all those who would come.

Their lips crashed together once more and Hermione leapt into the void of the unknown. She gave herself to Tom and to the role fate had given her to play.

A part of her was conscious of the wheels that were now beginning to spin into motion. She felt as though somewhere in the not too distant future, the other shoe was falling. She felt as though a movie was now un-paused, or someone had fixed a record that had been skipping. A new scene would unfold now, a new verse would be sung.

The future she feared more than anything was now one step closer to her.

(A/N): I KNOW!! I took forever…you would not believe how many times I wrote and re-wrote this chapter….once from this person's point of view, once from some other's…I literally wrote this five different times, but each draft didn't feel _right_…until this one…let me know what you think, I promise the next chapter will be out sooner…I also promise that you WILL find out how Tom found Hermione...I was being vague on purpose…


	23. Goodbye My Love

_(A/N): _This is the chapter that inspired the entire fic…I hope you all enjoy…sorry for not editing…it's 4am, and I was starting to see things…

_CARPE DIEM_

_Chapter 23_

When it happened, it happened fast.

Time, as Hermione could attest to, was a fickle friend. She found no comfort in the monotonous days following her rescue from Grindelwald. No comfort, that is, except for when Tom would smirk at her suggestively as he pulled her to their bed. She was able to forget then. In Tom's embrace she would lose herself in her desire just long enough to muffle the pragmatic voice in the back of her mind that seemed to constantly remind her that time was running out. She was able to ignore the dull ticking of a distant clock that was a constant reminder that her time was running out.

Tom, ever so observant, knew something was wrong. He never outright asked her what was bothering her, but in his own way, he helped her bear time's burden. He would take her aside, sometimes as they were walking the halls in between classes, and press his lips to hers and snog her senseless. Every thought would fly out the window during those moments and time itself would stop for them. And then he'd pull away, his forehead pressing against hers as they caught their breath, and his lips curved into a self-satisfied smirk as he took her hand in his and made their way to class once more, his finger caressing the engagement ring she wore openly.

In those moments, Hermione felt it was worth all the nightmares. Tom always found ways to make her forget.

As it turned out, Tom Riddle was all too good at making her forget. They spent the rest of the school term wrapped up in each other, ignoring the outside world and the lives they were destined to lead. They graduated, top of their class, of course, Hermione tailing behind Tom by a mere point.

And she was only too willing to ignore Albus Dumbledore's piercing eyes and sad smiles. She was happy to forget her obligations and her role in the future. And whenever the guilt would rise up and she would start to agree with Dumbledore, when she would work up the nerve to admit to herself that it was time to go home, Tom would suddenly appear before her as though summoned by her traitorous thoughts. His eyes would be narrowed and hard at first, but as he stared at her, the corners would soften and his lips would turn up slightly. Black eyes would turn to dark green as his hands connected to her skin as he pulled her to him in a passionate kiss.

Such thoughts always scattered the moment he looked at her like that, the moment he touched her. She was being selfish, she knew, they both were, but she was helpless to stop it.

So after they graduated, Hermione married Tom just as she said she would. It was a small, informal ceremony that only Minerva McGonagall served witness to. They had gone to the Ministry one early morning in June where they were wed by the wizarding equivalent of a muggle Justice of the Peace.

While the ceremony was simple and rather impersonal, Hermione would never forget the way Tom's eyes sparked to life as he slipped her wedding band on and vice versa. She would never forget the small but genuine smile that blossomed on his face as the wizard barrister pronounced them wizard and wife. She would never forget the feel of his lips as they met hers in a chaste kiss filled with so much innocence that it was awe inspiring when she thought of who she was kissing. They had broken apart at an unexpected flash and turned to see Minerva sniffling slightly as she snapped their picture.

Hermione had grinned, while Tom smiled indulgently. She had hugged Minerva, and to her surprise, Minerva had started balling on her shoulder while talking about how fast time can fly by and how so many things can change within the span of a few months.

Minerva was right, Hermione thought as she had exited the Ministry. Just yesterday she had been Hermione Granger, and now there she was, Hermione Riddle, wife to Tom Riddle, the future Dark Lord. And she was actually happy about it.

Time sped up again. They got a small flat in Diagon Alley while Hermione acquired a part time job at a potions apothecary and Tom received a position at Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley. They fell habit to their routines once again. Sleep, eat, work. They had their little side jobs, too. Tom still met with his Death Eaters at night which he often told her he had merely been working late. Hermione would receive random missives from Abraxas Malfoy which she would thoroughly peruse before forwarding to Albus.

Their marriage was surprisingly successful. Hermione had always dreamed of wedded bliss, her parents having been one of those couples that had relished in their own love. Accordingly, Hermione found herself more entranced with Thomas as time went by. There were moments when she'd say something and he would laugh, not just smirk, but chuckle softly as he placed a small kiss to her temple and pulled her down beside him on their couch where they would read into the late hours of the night. Sometimes she would fall asleep against him only to wake up in their bed the next morning, his face inches from hers as he simply stared at her, his eyes dark and unreadable.

Though their marriage was filled with secrecy and white lies, it was still surprisingly honest. Their feelings were not fabricated in order to manipulate each other, but were genuine, pure. And while Hermione hesitated to say they had a loving marriage, there was no doubting by anyone that saw them together that it was an intimate one.

She remembered the first time she had gone to meet Tom for lunch at work and he had calmly turned to his boss and asked, "Have you met my wife Hermione yet?"

Even after two years of marriage, she still got chills when he referred to her as his wife.

She did all the things for Tom that her mum had done for her father. She made dinner for him wearing a sensible white apron, scuttling across their modest kitchen as she hummed and sang softly to herself. He always managed to sneak up on her during those moments, leaning casually against the doorway to watch her. She nearly had a heart attack the first time she turned around and saw him there, smirking at her knowingly. He always seemed to be smirking and it was both amazing and annoying how much he could say with one little smirk.

And while their marriage was a solid one, Hermione would still hesitate at calling it a love match, if only because she couldn't keep a straight face when using Tom and love in the same sentence. Although patience had given her the time she needed to accept the love she felt for Tom, she still knew that the depth and sincerity of such emotions was something that would never be reciprocated.

There was passion, though, combined with desire, mutual respect and affection. When they walked together through Diagon Alley, it was with her arm looped through his. He took her out to dinner regularly, even going so far as to take her dancing for their wedding anniversary.

Except for their time spent at work, they were together for nearly every waking moment, and as it happens with all good things Hermione became so wrapped up in Tom and their life together that she forgot everything else. The future, her past, was only a faint memory to her. The days were filled with lunch meetings with Minerva, and late nights spent with Thomas.

Two blissful years passed by, Hermione relishing each day as though it was the last. Two years of a marriage that was never dull, two years of being out of Hogwarts and in the real world, and two years of a steady friendship with Minerva McGonagall.

It was two years to the day when it happened.

Tom was finishing up at work and was due to arrive shortly. Hermione sat on their couch, her curls swept up in an elegant, stylish do. Her make up was light, except for her lips which were painted a vibrant red color. Tom loved the color, and Hermione loved the way the lipstick made Tom stare blankly at her lips. She was wearing a classy black dress that accentuated her curves while still only hinting at the loveliness of her true figure. She wore black pumps with a modest heel since she didn't know what exactly Tom had planned for their evening. She hoped he'd take her dancing again, like last year. He was an excellent dancer.

As she sat, impatiently waiting for her husband, Hermione's hand toyed with her locket, her nimble fingers twisting the chain. The locket was the only piece of jewelry she wore except for her wedding ring which sat on the ring finger of her left hand, the impressive diamond winking at her as it caught the light emitting from the fireplace. She didn't know how Tom had been able to afford such a gorgeous ring, but she knew better than to ask.

Her foot started twitching in her eagerness. It was a big night for them, being their two year wedding anniversary. Tom had left for work this morning, flashing her that familiar smirk as he told her simply to be ready to go out as soon as he got home. She, of course, had been ready twenty minutes ago and had nothing to do now except wait.

She had never been an extremely patient person.

With a huff, Hermione's hand dropped from the locket and she rose from the couch. She started pacing in front of the fire but then realized that when Tom arrived he would flash her that annoyingly familiar smirk.

Better to find something to keep her mind, and her hands occupied. She walked into the den, the extra room their apartment came with that they had converted into an office/storage room. She had meant to reorganize the closet lately, so Hermione opened the door and started hauling out the junk they had accumulated in their two year marriage.

She was only making a bigger mess, but at least now she had something to do until Tom arrived. She had nearly reached the end of the closet when she noticed her old school trunk hidden away in the corner.

Smiling, Hermione tugged it out into the common area, her dress wrinkling as she kneeled next to it. It had seemed innocent enough. It would be amusing, she thought, to go through her old school effects.

And it was at first. She smiled at the photos from graduation, her old term papers (with perfect scores, she smiled). She came across a picture of her and Minerva taken right before they left on the Hogwarts express, their arms linked as they smiled and waved to the camera. There were some photos of her and Tom, one of them where she stood in the circle of his arms, smiling up at him. Tom himself wasn't necessarily smiling, but there was a softness in his eyes as he looked down at her that reminded her vaguely of the way Harry would look at Ginny after they had broken up.

There were old text books, her Slytherin uniform, and Hermione found herself smiling as she rifled through her old memories, smiling until she pulled out her old knapsack and flipped open the satchel. The smile froze on her face before it melted away as the realization hit her of what she held.

A trembling hand dipped into the bag and pulled out a blank piece of parchment. Tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks, which was silly, of course, since it was only paper, but this was no ordinary piece of parchment. It was a crisp, clean piece of paper, but its color was not that of ordinary stationary. It was a solid pitch black color from top to bottom. It wasn't very sensible to own such a parchment for no one would be able to see the ink penned onto it.

Unless it was silver, that is.

_Lucius…Severus…_the names echoed in her mind, rising unbidden from a time she had long since ignored.

With shaking hands, Hermione dropped the bag, the one she belatedly recognized as from the time Before, but her hand would not release the parchment.

"_No, Hermione, we have still yet to uncover why the Dark Lord is interested in you," Severus deep baritone murmuring_.

_Lucius sitting forward. "Hermione, you have to understand-"_

"_We know nothing," Severus insisting._

"Lies," her voice quivered as her tears continued to fall. "Nothing but lies," she whimpered. "I expected more from you. I expected more from the both of you."

She wanted nothing more than to forget everything in that moment. To forget her past, forget the future, and even to forget Tom. She wanted to crawl into a dark hole, curl up into a tiny ball and weep. She wanted to mourn the friendships she had lost and the trust that could never be regained.

But her mind would not quiet and she could not forget. She could not forget the look they had shared before they blatantly lied to her. She could not forget all of hours they had spent, writing secret notes to her as she sat in class, taking diligently notes while trying not to laugh out loud at their bickering.

Unbidden, a terrible thought occurred to her. Her hands shook as she fiddled with the black parchment and her eyes twitched to the quill that lay innocently in the chest. She should put it away, or better yet, through it into the fire and forget about them for good. But her foolish, brilliant mind would not allow her let it go, nor would it dispel the question of whether or not magic could transcend time and space. If she wrote on the parchment, would they know?

Biting her lips as the tears began to dry on her cheeks, Hermione's eyes hardened with determination. She may have the cunning of a Slytherin, but she still had a Gryffindor's bravery. She was proud that her hand shook only slightly as it reached out to the quill that innocently sat atop her old school tie.

Mere millimeters away from said quill a loud knock sounded at the door. Her hand froze and for a fraction of a second, Hermione almost ignored the door. Her fingers twitched to the quill and the knocking started again, this time louder and more insistent.

Her hand fell back down to her side and still clutching the black parchment in a tight fist, Hermione went to answer the door. For a second she thought it might be Tom, and she rubbed the heels of her hand against her eyes to erase the evidence of her tears. But then she realized that Tom would never knock, and he usually arrived through the floo. They never had any visitors at their flat, only Minerva on occasion, and she knew that Hermione and Tom were going out that night for their anniversary.

She paused when her right hand wrapped around the knob, taking a shaky breath to steady her nerves. With a small smile she opened the door.

Albus Dumbledore lowered his hand which had been positioned to knock again.

Her smile quivered at the sight of him.

"May I come in?" he asked politely.

Hermione frowned, uncertain of how she should answer. Instead of saying anything, she simply took a step back into the room and opened the door wider in silent invitation.

He followed her example and took five steps into the flat, looking around in muted curiosity. She saw how his eyes traveled over the kitchen dismissively and narrowed over her wedding photo that resided above their fireplace.

"It has been a while, Hermione," he stated.

There was an awkward silence. It had been a long time, mostly because they had not parted on the best of terms.

"It has been too long," he murmured as he stepped closer to the framed photo.

She felt a shiver dance across her spine at his ominous tone.

He turned to her swiftly, then, the intensity of his blue eyes making her step back in a vain attempt to escape the intent she read in them. "I think you know this is not a social call, Hermione."

She shook her head, not sure if she was denying the literal meaning of his words or denying his real purpose for dropping into her life once more.

"Yes, Hermione," he sighed, looking much like the man she remembered from her own time. "I have done wrong by you, my dear. I am truly sorry, Hermione, I am, but there is no other way. Every beginning has an end; the circle must be completed."

"N-No," she whispered, horrified by his words.

He didn't seem to hear her for he continued as though she had not spoken. "Perhaps I was wrong to let you stay as long as you have. Maybe I should never have sent you to stay with Tom. I should have kept you away from him. You never should have mingled with the past. Terrible things happen to those who meddle with time, Hermione."

When he spoke, it was not him she heard, but it was the Dumbledore of her time. _Awful things happen to those who meddle with time, Miss Granger. It is important for you to realize the responsibility being placed in you. I trust you to do what is right, not what is easy._

He had told her that right before he handed over her time turner, but with hindsight, Hermione could remember the almost pleading look in his eyes as he said those words, and the way his eyes had stared unerringly at her thirteen year old self.

"I should never have let it come to this," Albus was now saying. "I take full responsibility for the pain I am about to cause, but there is no other way. I had thought it innocent enough at first, but you two only grew closer with time. He did not lose interest in you like I thought he would. By the time I realized he would never let you go, I thought that perhaps a little while longer would be alright. The damage was already done, so what was another few months for you to spend together? I thought that with a little more time you would be able to prepare yourself in order to let go, but you haven't been preparing, Hermione. You have forgotten your purpose here just as I feared you would, just as you promised you wouldn't. It's time to remember now, Hermione. It's time to go home."

She gave a vehement shake of her head. "I _am_ home, Albus. Tom is my home now."

"No, Hermione, you know that's not true. I am sorry, child, but you have the answers that you required of the room, and you know the question."

She gave a horrified gasp as though she would disappear any moment simply because he gave voice to such thoughts. Her head felt like it was floating high above her body and she could have sworn that she felt a faint tingling starting in her toes. She shook her head and the discomfort dissipated. It was nothing.

"You have to leave now, Albus," she ordered. "Tom will be home from work any minute, and if he sees you here I don't- I don't know what he'll do to you."

"I will not go this time, Hermione," he smiled sadly. "Not without having done what needs to be done."

Desperation reared its ugly head, making Hermione cross the room and curl her fists in the front of his robes, wrinkling the black parchment she had yet to relinquish her hold on. She knew that if he pushed her hard enough, he could do it. He could force her to have the revelation that was always hovering behind her thoughts, lurking behind her like a haunting black cloud.

And that terrified her.

"Please Albus, you can't. Please, you don't know what it's like back then…you don't know what it will do to him!"

That was how Tom found them. He arrived through the floo dressed in a sharp black suite and holding a single red rose. He froze when he saw them, his eyes narrowing on her tiny fists curled desperately around Albus's purple robes and the black piece of parchment that was still crumbled in her right hand. If possible his expression hardened further when he noticed her tearstained makeup and the fear that still clouded her eyes.

"What," his voice was clipped and as cold as ice. "Is going on?"

Hermione felt relief flood her at the sight of him. She knew he wouldn't let her go. He would save her.

Without thinking, Hermione ran to Tom, throwing her arms around his neck in a desperate embrace. "Please," she choked out around her tears. "Please, Thomas, please don't let him take me."

Tom tightened his jaw, his arms locking around her like a vice. He wasn't sure what was going on, but the fact that Hermione, his beautiful, stunning wife, had been reduced to the begging sobbing mess in his arms was not to be tolerated.

"I will never let you go," he whispered darkly into her hair, "Never."

"I'm afraid, Tom, that you don't have a choice," Albus announced, his chin raising as he widened his stance and subconsciously fingered his wand. "And neither does Hermione."

"You will not touch my wife," he hissed, his eyes quickly losing their green tones as darkness began to seep across him.

"And you will not damage the timeline with you selfishness," Albus countered. "You know I am right, Hermione. The time has come. You have the answers, you know the question. Do not keep them waiting any longer."

Hermione moaned into his chest. "Stop," she pleaded. "Please, make it stop."

"What are you doing to her?" Tom asked, fear replacing his anger as Hermione began trembling against him.

Albus ignored him and kept his focus on Hermione. "The answers and the question, Hermione," he pressed her, "You cannot ignore it anymore."

It was too late. He had pushed her too far. Her head was spinning, her toes began tingling again but it spread to the rest of her foot this time, and up her leg. He was right. It was time.

"I'm sorry, so sorry Thomas," she whispered.

Tom's eyes widened at the defeat that rang in her words and the acceptance he felt in her slumped shoulders.

"Hermione, what-?" he began, but she cut him off, her lips pressing softly against his. She tasted like tears and sadness, like bittersweet nostalgia.

"Whatever happens, Thomas," she murmured against his lips, "I love you. Knowing you as I do now, and knowing what you become, I love you. I think I was always meant to."

His grip tightened on her, his fingers curling around the gold chain of her locket. Why did it sound like she was saying goodbye?

"We will meet again," she promised, her voice thick with her conviction. "In another time and another place, we will meet again. You will be what you were always meant to become, and I-" she stuttered emotionally, "I will be as I am now."

There was a faint ringing in her ears, a rush of white noise that made her clutch at her head as the pain increased.

"What is it? What's wrong?" she had never heard Tom's voice tremble in such a way before.

The tingling was at her elbows now and steadily rising.

"Goodbye, my love," she muttered quietly, afraid that speaking above anything but a whisper would cause the pain stabbing at her temples to increase.

"Hermione," his voice sounded as though it was coming from far away now and she felt her heart shatter at the knowledge that she had already lost him.

She wanted to say something to reassure him. She wanted to tell him, one last time, that she loved him. She wanted to press her lips to his, to feel his arms around her, the caress of his confident palms down her back, and to see that damned smirk of his when she'd shiver at his touch.

But as she tilted her head back for that one last kiss, she felt an invisible fist curl around her body and with one vicious tug she was gone and Tom Marvolo Riddle was left holding nothing but air where his wife had once stood.

Tom swallowed harshly and blinked twice as though to clear his vision and make sure he had not imagined her disappearance. From his right hand dangled the locket he had given her for Christmas, a memento of the two happiest years in his life. He blinked again, and to his surprise, two lone tears trailed down his cheeks.

His hands were shaking even as he fought to control himself, even as he fought the urge to throw his head back and scream. He wanted to give life to the pain that was ripping through him. But he forced it deep down within himself and created a tiny box where he locked away his pain and sadness. He would have hidden his heart away there, too, had she not taken it with her.

With a resounding snap, Tom slammed the lid down on his pathetic box and mentally twisted the lock into place. It would never be opened again.

The tension was thick in the air, but there was a faint roaring echoing in Tom's ears as wave upon wave of anger crashed against him, fighting for supremacy against the sorrow that flooded him.

"She's gone back to when she belongs, Tom," Albus stated.

_When_, the word bounced around his mind.

What funny word choice.

But it made sense. On some level, Tom had known all along that Hermione was not from his time. He had always been hovering on the brink of that realization, had always filed away the little instances when she'd say something with the wrong tense, or make reference to her past as though it had yet to come.

"I'm sorry," Albus stated. "Truly, I am. I did not want this for either of you, but she had to return. There was no other way. I am sorry, Tom, for your loss."

Tom's fingers curled around the locket and into a fist. "No you're not," he hissed, his eyes locking with those of his enemy's.

Albus frowned. For a moment, he thought he saw Tom's eyes flash red, but no…it must have been a trick of the light.

"But you will be," Tom's words were filled with a dark promise.

He would see his wife again, Tom vowed, if only to retrieve the heart that she had stolen from him. Their fates were entwined, and when their paths crossed again, she would have much to answer for.


	24. Dreaming of Memories

(A/N): In case you couldn't guess…school is now out for me ;-) Here's another 4am post, hope you can deal with any grammar issues, once again, I'm too tired and too excited to post it to wait…Thanks for all of those amazing reviews for the last chapter! It was certainly good to hear!!!

CARPE DIEM

Chapter 24

His eyes were flickering furiously behind closed lids, the only visible sign that he was dreaming.

"_Are you sure about this?"_

_Tom felt the right side of his mouth lift. It was the fifth time she had asked him that question in the past ten minutes._

"_Yes," he murmured dutifully. _

_Hermione bit her lip. "But what if you decide that you hate me five years from now?"_

_He almost laughed. "That's impossible."_

_She gave a vehement shake of her head. "No it isn't, Thomas," she insisted, her voice slightly higher than normal. "That sort of thing happens all the time. We're young, maybe we're rushing into things!" _

_He took a moment to let her rant, best that she get it out of her system, and observe her in silence. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, her wild curls framing her face. Minerva had given her a stunning white lily which was tightly secured behind her right ear. She wore an airy white sundress that was rather plain for such a significant occasion, but still flattered her natural beauty. _

_She had never looked more beautiful to him._

"_-And what if you don't like my cooking!" her pathetic wail broke through his thoughts. Her eyes were wide and her hair was starting to frizz in her frustration, and this time, Tom could not stop the chuckle from escaping his lips. _

_At the sound of his rarely heard laugh, Hermione stopped her pacing. In two quick strides Tom crossed the hall and placed both of his hands on either of her shoulders. He looked deep into her wide eyes, a small smirk beginning to tug at his lips._

"_Then we will dine out," he stated simply._

"_But what if-?"_

_Enough was enough really. Tom cut off her next protest by pressing his lips to hers. He kissed her deeply, intent on showing her just how well they suited each other. His hands slid from her shoulders and fell to her waist, pulling her body flush with his._

_He broke off the kiss after what felt like hours, looking down into her face. She stayed in his arms silently, her head tilted back and her eyes still closed, a small smile playing on her mouth. It made him what to kiss her again._

_There was a slight cough from behind and Tom turned to see Minerva, their chosen witness, smiling at them broadly._

"_That part doesn't come until later," she pointed out._

_Cheeky Gryffindor, Tom thought._

_Hermione stepped out of his arms, but her eyes had lost the frantic glint to them and she did not resume her pacing. "Right," she was all business now, "let's do this."_

_Minerva smiled brightly at them, and even Tom couldn't resist a small smile when Hermione turned to him with a grin, slipping her hand into his._

_Tom was confident. She belonged with him._

Colors swirled and time changed. The scene melted to form a memory from two months later.

_He stood in the entryway, content to remain silent as he watched her._

_She was humming, he realized. Humming as she scuttled about their kitchen. Her hair was pulled up into a loose bun, but her wild strands refused to be subdued and she constantly had to pause to push the curls away with her forearm, leaving behind a white streak of flour behind. _

_He didn't understand why she was cooking the muggle way. With just a flick of her wrist she could prepare a meal fit for a king, and it always confused him as to why she insisted on doing it herself. She always told him she didn't want to be lazy. She claimed that baking and cooking wasn't all that different from potions._

_Personally, he thought it was just because she was bored. She worked part time for the local apothecary, but it was unusual for a woman to have a job at all. She had been her annoying persistent self, though. She wanted more to do than to stay at home alone all day long._

_She had applied at many stores, but none had even bothered responding. She had become more depressed each day that went by with nothing to do but cook and clean. Hermione was meant for more than that, Tom knew. She was not suited to a life at home. And he didn't like seeing her so depressed._

_She had always been rather fond of potions, and she really was quite brilliant with them. He remembered her saying that back in France she had been great friends with a Potions Master who had taught her the beauty of a softly simmering cauldron. Yes, she would do finely at a potions apothecary._

_He had visited the nearest apothecary himself to speak with the owner. In no uncertain terms, he had made it clear that his wife would be working there. She would have whatever days she wished off and work as many hours as she desired. _

_The owner had been dubious at first. Why should he employ a woman at his store? Who was Tom to tell him what to do?_

_Tom smirked. It had only been too easy to manipulate the owner. He soon saw it Tom's way. They always saw it his way in the end._

"_La-de-da-dum," she has humming louder now as she used a wooden spoon to stir the ingredients together. _

_She had a beautiful voice, soft and gentle. He found her humming to be oddly comforting. She always seemed to be humming lately. Humming as she cooked, humming as she read, and humming as she got ready for work or bed. _

_There was a sudden clank as she tossed the bowl down with a huff. "Stupid hair," she muttered as she wiped her hands off on her white apron and reached up to pull back another unruly lock. "I swear, one day I'm going to cut it all off."_

_Tom silently glided behind her, his hands reaching out to clip the stray lock with the rest of them. "Don't do that. I love you hair."_

_She jumped slightly and gave a strangled 'epp.' _

"_How long have you been here?" she spun around, hands on her hips as she glared at him._

"_Long enough," he said casually._

_Her eyes narrowed further, not liking his evasive answer, but she chose to ignore it for now and addressed the issue with her hair. "It keeps getting in the way, Thomas. It's too much of a hassle."_

_Tom shook his head. "It's perfect," he stated. "Leave it as is."_

_She frowned. "Really?"_

_He nodded, his fingers reaching up to tangle in the mass of curls. "Really."_

_She remained dubious. "Well, if you say so…"_

"_I do."_

_A smile replaced her frown. "I won't cut it then, as long as you stop spying on me while I'm cooking."_

"_I'd hardly call it spying," he demurred obediently. _

_She smirked in a way that let him know she was aware he was allowing her to win. "Scoot, Thomas."_

_He sighed, but retreated as promised. She turned back to her mixing bowl, humming once again. He could even hear her from the common area. Instead of being annoyed, he almost smiled. He'd allow her to cook like a muggle as long as she continued to hum._

Another blur of colors flashed and the scene changed once more.

_He was not a romantic man, but even he knew that a first year wedding anniversary required a little effort. He'd arranged to leave work early, which was not incredibly difficult since he more or less set his own hours. He'd made dinner reservations for them at a fancy new restaurant, very posh and high class. _

_The night had gone perfectly. She loved the restaurant, loved the music and the flowers. They had even taken a turn on the dance floor. He was surprised at how much she loved dancing, and he certainly found nothing to complain about holding her in his arms._

_The end of the night had been even better than the beginning. He brought her home and helped her remove all the various pins in her hair she used to keep it in place. True to her word, she had not cut it, but his sneaky little Slytherin managed to weasel him in to brushing it out for her almost every night. _

'_You are the one who wants it long, so it's only fair that you be the one to maintain it,' she had airily claimed as she handed him a brush._

_He didn't mind it, though. He liked the feel of her hair running through his fingers. For such bushy hair, it was incredibly soft._

_She sighed as his finger meticulously ran through her hair, setting the curls free. The sigh turned into a purr, causing him to lift a brow at her which she saw reflected in her vanity mirror._

"_Shut it, you," she murmured, her eyes falling shut. _

_As in every night before, his hands slowly made their way from her hair down to her shoulders, then down her arms and back. _

"_I love you," she nearly moaned._

_His hands froze for a fraction of a second before resuming their path. She had admitted her love to him before, but it never ceased to amaze him. He never got tired of hearing her say it and doubted he ever would._

"_Come to bed," he murmured in response._

_He may never be able to say it to her, but he had his ways to show her how much he appreciated her love. And he never got tired of showing her._

Her form melted again. It was the last of happy memories for that night's dreams.

_His first stop was Minerva's._

_He woke her up with his incessant knocking, banging on the door of her flat in Hogsmeade. She came to answer it in a red and gold robe and a tartan hat, sleep clouding her eyes as she frowned at him._

"_Tom? What are you doing here? What time is it?" her eyes began to clear once he lit his wand to see past her. He had to make sure she was alone before telling her._

"_I need you to do me a favor," his voice was dark and commanding. He hadn't sounded this unfeeling since before Hermione._

_Her eyes widened as she noted her friend's absence. "Where's Hermione?" she asked worriedly._

_Tom turned to her and she shuddered at the darkness she saw in his eyes. Whatever his reason for being there, she knew it was bad._

"_She's gone now, Minerva," he muttered, his voice devoid of all emotion._

_Minerva gasped. "She's- dead?"_

_A flicker of emotion crossed his features but quickly disappeared. "Not dead. She's waiting for me. I need you to store her belongings. I need you to save them for when she's ready."_

"_What are you saying, Tom? You're not making any sense…" she trailed off, he was really starting to confuse her._

_He stared at her for a long moment. "When the time comes you will understand. She counted you as her friend, and for that you will be left untouched," she felt a tremble of fear and relief sweep through her even though she didn't fully comprehend what he was referring to. "But don't get in my way. Keep her things."_

_And he turned away from her leaving behind a trunk which was presumably filled with the possessions that had once belonged to her friend. She never saw Tom Riddle again, nor did she ever find out about Hermione Riddle until Albus Dumbledore took her under his wing._

_And then she understood her predicament a little too well._

The memories were coming quicker now, one firing rapidly after the other.

"_The time has come."_

_There was a murmur of general agreement amongst the inner circle. Twenty years their lord had spent gallivanting across the world as he researched the dark arts. Twenty years they had been left in the dark to his actions. Twenty years they had eagerly waited for his return so that they may finally take their rightful place in the Wizarding World._

_Twenty years had passed since Hermione Riddle had disappeared and Lord Voldemort reemerged. _

_Yes, Lord Voldemort smiled; the time had come to eliminate his inner circle and kill the memory of the boy he had once been._

_One by one he turned his wand on the members of his inner circle, laughing in glee at the fear and horror he instilled. One by one they fell prey to his wand. He had learned so much in his years traveling the Earth. He had no need for them anymore._

"_If she was still here this wouldn't be happening."_

_Lord Voldemort froze and he turned in sinister calmness to Abraxas Malfoy._

"_What did you say?" he hissed, his eyes flashing red._

_Abraxas lifted his chin. "You heard me."_

"_What do you care? You hated her," his voice, much to his annoyance, was filled with barely concealed sorrow and his eyes reverted back to green._

_Malfoy had the nerve to smirk. "I'd say I care a great deal seeing as how you are about to kill me because of her."_

_He gave him no warning. Malfoy looked so surprised to see the green death rushing towards him. In his wake he left behind a widow to raise their newborn child alone, but Voldemort couldn't care less. _

_He made quick order of the rest and when he was finished, he called in a lower member._

"_Get rid of this mess and tell the others. Do not test my wrath," he hissed at the fumbling Death Eater._

_Lord Voldemort left in a swirl of black robes. He had an interview at Hogwarts to make._

The years passed by faster and faster, but she was always there behind every step he took and shadowing every decision he made.

"_Severus…" _

_A young boy with long hair looked up at him from where he was kneeling obediently._

"_Such a…unique…name," he trailed off._

'_Severus would be proud,' a voice whispered distantly in his mind. So long ago it was when he had heard the stray thought coming from her mind before she shielded him._

_Lord Voldemort smirked. Soon…he would see her soon now._

"_Rise Severus, and take your honored position in my third circle."_

_The others gasped. It was not like him to give such a high position to a new recruit._

Another flash. Another memory.

"_One of two children you say?"_

"_Yes, my lord," Severus confirmed. "Longbottom's boy or Potter's brat." _

"_Potter, you said?" _

_Severus nodded. "Yes, little Harry Potter," he spat._

'_Harry…' a voice with such longing it had made his heart twist with jealousy._

'_And you'll never guess what Harold Potter said next…'_

'_Harry Potter…'_

_Lord Voldemort smiled slowly, truly a terrifying sight. "Send Bellatrix to take care of the Longbottoms. I'll see to the Potters." _

His eyes were twitching fast now from behind his lids, almost as if what he was dreaming was really a nightmare.

"_Granger, Hermione."_

_A short girl with an unruly head of curls bounced forward. His wife…so young and innocent. Minerva smiled slightly once the hat covered Hermione's eyes and looked down at her as if she wanted to cry._

The memories became shorter as they swam past his inner eye.

_Ginny stood over her frozen form, but it was not her looking down at Hermione's petrified figure. _

_Her little hand reached out to connect with Hermione's and a voice that was hers, but not hers, said, "It wasn't supposed to happen to you. You will be safe, from now on, I will keep you safe."_

His head twisted to the side, the first movement that belied his unpleasant dreams.

_It was a day of reckoning._

"_Those who cursed McGonagall, step forward."_

_Obediently, if somewhat slowly, the guilty parties step forward._

"_Crucio," he hissed. He held them suspended in torture for five minutes before breaking off the curse. "No one is to harm her on my order. Is that clear?"_

_A murmur of 'yes my lords' greeted him._

"_Good," he spat, red eyes darkening and if possible he looked even more enraged than ever before. "Antonin Dolohov, step forward."_

_The hooded Death Eater stepped forward proudly, confident his lord was about to reward him for his faithful service. He, after all, had cursed Potter's little mudblood._

"_You cursed the girl," Voldemort stated, easily reading his open mind._

"_Yes, my lord. Probably would have killed the mudblood, too, if I hadn't been under her silencio. Clever little witch, but I'm sure she is in quite a bit of pain."_

_A loud roaring filled the room as their lord barely kept his anger in check. It was the last any of them ever saw of Dolohov again._

And as he started to rise into the world of consciousness again, he heard her voice filled with tears echoing in his head.

"_Whatever happens, Thomas…I love you. Knowing you as I do now, and knowing what you become, I love you. I think I was always meant to."_

He sat up, the window to his left shattering as he failed to control his magic. He took in deep gulps of air as he forced his breathing to even out and steady. The dreams never shook him as much as they had that night, which could only mean one thing.

"Is everything w-w-well, m-my lord?"

His slited, red tinted eyes narrowed. "Yes Wormtail. Everything is going according to plan."

_Yes_, he thought, _it was_ _almost time now_.


	25. A Broken Heart

_A/N: Hey everybody, have no fear for no one can stop me from writing...hope you enjoy, again it is 4am!!! Oh, and before I forget, a reviewer noticed that a line from chapter 23 was simialr to one in 'Take My Heart Away' (a lovely piece, I recommend it to all)...I didn't realize it when I put it in, but I recalled reading something like it somewhere and couldn't remember where...anyway, props Hatusu for clearly inspiring me with beautiful imagery! Cheers!_

_CARPE DIEM_

_Chapter 25_

She sighed as she felt a phantom caress upon her brow and a voice whispered in the back of her mind, _Wake up now, Hermione. It's time to wake up._

Her eyes flew open, but she was not met with the sight of her mother leaning over her, like she had been in her years before Hogwarts, singing to her softly while stroking her hair. Her voice seemed to echo in her mind, though, the way it had in the first few weeks of her passing.

She closed her eyes at the memory and she instantly turned her thoughts away from her loss as she shifted in bed.

She frowned. The mattress was firmer than she was used to sleeping on and as she looked down she discovered it wasn't a mattress at all, but a deep burgundy sofa that would have been quite comfortable had it been even remotely familiar. Her frown deepened as she sat up, craning her neck to glimpse her surroundings.

Not counting the sofa she occupied, there were two others that were positioned facing each other on either side of a fireplace. The fireplace itself was devoid of any flame or warmth which cloaked the small room in a rather gloomy darkness. She thought that the furniture, despite not being anything even slightly similar to what she and Thomas owned, should have been familiar. There was a soft tickle in the back of her mind as she looked around her. Perhaps someone she knew had a similar décor.

She sat up fully, her classy back dress wrinkling around her waist. Her hair was flat and more than a few tendrils had come loose of her elegant do. She was dressed for a night of dancing and romance, she realized, and in that epiphany she knew something was wrong. Horribly, and terribly wrong.

Her hand rose to the side of her head as the room tilted dangerously. She felt the dry tracks of tearstains on her cheeks and knew that her makeup was probably smeared and caked to her face. There was a faint tingling feeling that resonated throughout her entire body making it hum warmly and her chest felt as though it was on fire.

Unconsciously, her hand rose to her neck to fumble the locket Tom had given her, a habit she had become accustomed to when she was nervous. Her fingers only caressed the smooth skin of her neck. Her heart stopping, Hermione looked down to find the locket, and thus any reassurance she would have derived from its presence, gone. There was a bright red line on the right side of her neck where the chain had bit viciously into her skin as it broke under the unyielding pressure of her body falling away as Tom held firmly to the chain.

The thudding of her heart grew to a painful extreme as the burning in her chest doubled, making the act of breathing nearly impossible. When her eyes scanned the room it was more desperately as she searched, in vain, for the smirking face of her husband.

She flew from the sofa, tears spilling from her eyes as she denied the truth. Perhaps it had only been a dream, a nightmare. She wasn't gone. _He_ wasn't gone.

_Wake up now, Hermione. It's time to wake up._

It was time to wake up.

Her legs gave out beneath her and she crumbled to the floor. _No, no, no, no, no_…her mind was a broken record as she sobbed soundlessly in denial. _Please no_…

It was impossible. The odds were astronomical that one simple question and its very complicated answer could send her body hurling through time and space. He had been holding on to her so tightly and she had been so sure he would not let go. He wouldn't let her leave.

Yes, her mind clung to the false hope firmly. Tom wouldn't let her go.

She surged to her feet and ran to the door, ignoring the tears streaming down her face. She wasn't in the Room of Requirement. _She wasn't._

Her panic increased in the hall, her crying turning into a soft, desperate moaning. She ran to the left, passing by suits of armor who called out for her to slow down. She wasn't at Hogwarts. She hadn't been to the school since she graduated two years ago. _She wasn't running through the halls at Hogwarts_.

Hermione rounded the corner, her heels skidding on the stone floors as she threw out her arms to save her balance. With nary a pause, Hermione passed the library. _No, that's not the Library…I'm not at Hogwarts, I'm not! _Her breathing became ragged as her speed increased and a painful stitch began throbbing in her right side. But she did not pause as she ran down a staircase, leaping the last two steps as it began to grind into movement.

Any minute now she would wake up. Tom would look down at her, a slight frown between his eyes, and tell her she was being quite foolish for having such a silly nightmare.

Yes, any minute now.

She was gasping for air when she reached the doors of the Great Hall. Her hair was wild and almost completely free of the golden, snake shaped barrette she had used to secure the unruly locks. Tears ran unchecked down her face, and her nose was red and stuffy.

Denial gave her the strength to push open the doors, but it was fear that rooted her to the spot only three frantic steps in.

Every head turned to her, chicken and mashed potatoes sitting forgotten on their plates. Talking dwindled into silence as a thousand eyes pierced her being.

Susan Bones frowned concernedly at her from the Hufflepuff table. Over at the Ravenclaw table, Luna Lovegood dropped her fork and focused all of her attention on to Hermione, her eyes twice the size of her dangling radish earrings. All of Slytherin house looked cautiously curious, but still unconcerned at her presence, Crabbe and Goyle snickering at the fresh tears glistening on her face.

Minerva McGonagall sat in the center of the Head Table, her eyes wide in shock and just a little bit of terror.

Neville Longbottom rose from his seat as if to approach her, but froze immediately when he was fixed with her wild stare.

And her heart halted abruptly, only to begin to beat in a painful staccato as two figures rose at the furthest end of Gryffindor table. One positively dwarfed the other, standing tall and lanky, flaming red hair marking him as a Weasley as surely as though he wore a name tag. The other was short, but only when compared to his companion. His posture was straight and confident, his hair black and messy, and the candlelight glinted sharply off of his rounded glasses.

The burning increased in her chest as she simultaneously attempted to stop her tears and cease the rapid beating of her heart.

Harry and Ron made their way to her, their eyes holding nothing but concern. They took no more than two steps before Harry stopped abruptly and hissed in pain. Ron frowned at her, then down at his other best friend.

Harry reached up to cover his scar which Hermione's slow mind finally noticed was a vibrant red, standing out in sharp relief against his pale forehead. Ron reached out to steady him as Harry staggered.

Beautiful green eyes cut into her and even though he spoke in nothing but a painfully tight whisper, Hermione could hear him above the thudding of her heart.

"He knows…"

_He knows_, the words were enough to cut through her cloud of fear and freeze her racing heart.

_He knows, he knows, he knows_…her head swam as everything blurred. A blissfully dark fog began to creep into the outer fields of her vision.

_He knows_.

And while it was apparent exactly who Harry was referring to, it was not that realization that made her knees buckle and darkness overtake her vision. The almost forgotten knife of betrayal that had been lodged deep within her heart turned and caused fresh blood to spill from the old wound.

He knows, her mind echoed. _Harry_ _knows_.

Her eyes rolled and her body crumbled. Her head would have connected painfully with the floor had it not been for the two invisible ghosts that managed to catch her listless body before the impact.

But all Hermione knew was darkness. It surrounded her, pulling heavily at her limbs like sticky tar. Dark tendrils sprung out of the nothingness, reaching hungrily for her. A voice seemed to hiss alluringly to her, telling her to be calm and still. Let the darkness take over.

She listened for a moment, thinking that the sibilant voice sounded vaguely familiar. Phantom caresses made her skin shudder, but it wasn't until she felt fingers curl around her neck did she panic. But like Devil's Snare, the more she struggled against the darkness, the tighter its hold became.

The voice hissed in false reassurance even as her wrists and throat began to burn from where the dark tendrils tightened.

She opened her mouth to scream, but the darkness leapt down her throat and filled her body to the brim. She felt as though she was being stretched thin, as if a heavy weight was sitting on her chest. Her panic increased and her struggling doubled. A lazy chuckle echoed in the void and Hermione immediately ceased all movements.

Invisible hands traced an unseen path up and down her arms with the confidence of an old lover. She shivered, and not from fear this time.

"_Sssoon_," the voice was filled with a dark promise.

The hands relaxed and she felt them withdraw, receding back into the darkness from whence they came. She attempted to call out, unsure if it was to voice her relief or to call the hands back. Now that they were gone she felt oddly bereft. The hairs on her skin stood on end and she shivered as the coldness soaked through her skin.

"Come back," she whispered, her voice quivering slightly as she shivered again.

But it was no use. The strangely familiar and comforting hands were gone and there was no voice hissing false reassurances.

"Please," she whimpered again. "Please don't leave me."

She was crying. Even as she opened her eyes and found herself in a brightly lit room, she felt the tears roll down her cheeks. When she awoke this time, there was no deluding herself into thinking she had dreamt the whole scenario. There was no desperate belief that perhaps she was dreaming even still. She _was_ waking up in the Hospital Wing. There _was_ a thin privacy screen separating her from people she had never forgotten, but had long since thought about.

And as she cried silently on the bed, she could hear their voices, just as she remembered, murmuring amongst themselves.

"She'll be fine. It's only shock that's keeping her under. Her mind and body are both under a lot of stress," this was spoken briskly by Madam Pomfrey.

"Stress?" Minerva McGonagall's voice was unusually trill. "Of course she's under stress, Poppy, the girl just time leaped fifty-seven years into the future!"

"I still don't understand this!" Ron moaned in a way that told Hermione it was not his first time saying so. "I thought there were laws that prevented this sort of thing!"

"Laws can be broken, Mr. Weasley," was proclaimed in Severus Snape's unmistakable drawl.

"Albus never told us fully the exact circumstances," Minerva admitted.

"Regardless, the girl will be fine!" Poppy reassured them.

"Fine?" this came from Harry now, his voice low with disbelief and a touch of indignant anger on her behalf. "That's not Hermione _Granger_ in there, in case you've forgotten! No one could experience all that and walk away _fine_!"

Silence met his statement for no one could deny the truth of his words.

"Did you see the ring on her hand?" Ron asked quietly. "Bit flashy, but beautiful."

"Poppy attempted to take it off when she treated her, but it wouldn't budge. Isn't that right?" Minerva asked.

Hermione thought she could her Madam Pomfrey nod. "Someone used a permanent sticking charm on it. The only person who can take it off is the person who put it on."

Hermione closed her eyes in an attempt to stop the tears and shut out their voices. A memory flashed behind her closed lids of her and Tom at the Ministry. He wore classy black dress robes and she was in a modest white dress. Minerva smiled at them as Hermione dutifully slept a gold band onto Tom's finger, and Tom had smirked slightly as he slipped his ring onto hers.

"She won't be fine," Harry said, his tone rather scathing. "None of us will be."

Personally, Hermione agreed.

"It won't be the same, will it? I mean, we just saw her in Defense. She left to study and we were going to meet up at dinner. We were only twenty minutes in when she arrived in that dress, crying and looking like a cornered pigmy puff. It was like no time had passed at all," Ron sounded desperate for someone to contradict him, but no body could without lying.

"No time for us, maybe," Lucius muttered, his voice a tad lower than normal which indicated he was deeply concerned. "But she spent nearly three years there. With him."

"She looked different." Harry no longer sounded so angry, but sad now. "Her hair was longer and she was a little taller. She erm-" Hermione imagined he was blushing as he said, "She filled out a little more, ya know?"

"She would have been beautiful had she not been so scared." There was no hint of insult or sneer in Severus's soft tone.

"Hermione was always beautiful," Harry maintained, causing Hermione to give a small watery smile at his loyalty. "It's just, well, it was more noticeable is all."

"He always noticed it," Minerva murmured darkly. "Everyone at school saw how he looked at her, like a starving man gazing upon a feast."

Another moment of silence.

"Did he love her?" Harry's whisper was soft, but in the silence of the room everyone could hear it.

Hermione bit her lip.

"I think so," Minerva eventually said. "In his own way, I think so."

Hermione felt her heart crack. Tom had never said he loved her, but there had been need, and desire. There had been respect and passion. And no matter the reasons why it shouldn't have, they had simply worked. They had fit so perfectly together even from the beginning. Their lives had folded onto the other's as though it had always been meant to be. She could settle with passion and need. In fact, she didn't see it as settling at all.

"What's going to happen now?" Ron asked wonderingly.

"That all depends on him. And her," Poppy stated.

"Will he hurt her?" Harry demanded to know.

It was Lucius who answered. "Of course not, Potter. We were charged to _protect_ her."

"Do you think," Ron's tone was surprisingly thoughtful, "he still cares about her?"

Hermione stilled her already motionless body, and waited with breath abated. Her heart was pounding so loud she thought they would all hear it for sure and know that she was awake.

"We don't know," Severus admitted.

Hermione released her breath, unsure of what she had been expecting to hear. Was it disappointment or relief she felt? Or perhaps it was hope. She didn't know what she wanted.

"Will he come for her?" Harry asked.

Surprisingly, it was Minerva who answered him and not one of the two spies. "Oh yes, of course he will."

"How do you know for sure?"

"He came to me, the night it happened," Minerva announced her voice soft with memory. "The night she left he came to my door in the dead of night with a trunk full of her belongings. He asked me to store them for her," she broke off as emotion choked her words. "I was so scared, I thought she was dead, but all he said was that she was gone. That she was waiting for him, somewhere."

"He's waited, all this time for her?" Ron's disbelief was clear.

"He always knew their paths would cross again. Tom Riddle was always patient when he stood to gain something."

Ron sounded scared as he said, "What does he stand to gain with our 'Mione?"

Hermione felt a bubble of resentment well up within her. She wasn't _their_ 'Mione. Not anymore.

"I couldn't say, Mr. Weasley."

Someone sighed and Hermione heard the rustle of fabric as if someone had lifted their hand to tousle their hair. Probably Harry.

"She cries in her sleep," Harry abruptly claimed. "Did you see her? She doesn't make a sound or move, but the tears are there all the same. I hate it when she cries. Always have."

"I fear that perhaps you had better get used to it, Potter," Severus sighed. "I doubt she will be in a cheerful mood once she awakens."

Hermione hated that Severus was always right.

"What will we do now? Even after all this time, we're still not prepared. Albus never could think of a way to apologize to her, to explain to her why things had to be done the way they were."

"With all due respect, Headmaster," Harry was angry again. "But even if he had prepared some speech, he's still not here to give it. It wouldn't matter anyway. There's nothing we can say that will take away the betrayal. There won't be any way for us to make it right. This is one thing magic can't fix."

Hermione thought that perhaps Harry was speaking from personal experience.

"Harry's right," Ron agreed solemnly. "Magic won't fix her broken heart."

No one had anything left to say after that and Hermione wasn't ready to face them, so she let their silence settle over her with no intention to break it. She wasn't sure if she'd ever be ready to break it.

She felt the truth of their words and the burden of the future on her shoulders. Everything up until this point had been known. Everyone knew she would travel back in time to marry Tom, everyone knew she would again travel forward to come back to them, but after that, what was to happen?

The future was a blank canvas waiting for fate to pick up her brush again to sketch out a new scene. What color would the sky be? Dark or light? Perhaps gray? The possibilities were infinite in their choices and they all feared the outcome.

One thing Hermione knew for sure, though, was that Ron was right. Magic couldn't fix her broken heart. She was sure nothing could.


	26. Whispers in the Dark

(A/N): Yes, I know! It's been far too long! If only I could show you people each draft I started, stopped, edited, threw out, restarted, etc…And then, this not so special Wednesday morning at 1:00 am…I begin writing and can't seem to stop the ideas…weird, I know! Please enjoy with my assurances that I will work very hard to update much faster now I've overcome my stint with writer's block! Again, this is unedited...I figure you've all waited long enough!

_Carpe Diem_

_Chapter 26_

It was Ron, of course, who was the first to snap.

They'd been living in Grimmauld Place for nearly two weeks now and the tension between Hermione and the other occupants was making the hair on the back of her neck stand in a constant state of attention. The air was heavy between them with unspoken accusations and disappointments. It was Harry's idea, oddly, that they remove themselves from the school and reside once more in the gloomy house that homed the Order of Phoenix. Minerva had agreed before she'd realized Harry had meant for him and Ron to leave as well.

"Mr. Potter, you have not completed your final year," Minerva said, scandalized.

Harry did not back down. "We're tired of hiding away here and doing nothing about Voldemort and the war. We wouldn't have even come back this year in the first place had Hermione…"

He trailed off and while Minerva still did not agree with them, she did not bring the matter up again.

And so Hermione found herself, Remus (who resigned from his teaching post), Lucius, Severus, Harry and Ron residing together in the depressing house. They were oddly matched flatmates and even if the circumstances had been different, Hermione knew much of the tension between them would remain.

She spent the first three days holed up in the room she and Ginny occupied during the summer. The men of the house took turns bringing her meals and more often than not they'd sit untouched at the base of her door. Hermione could not bring herself to deny Harry, though, who came to her with silent but understanding eyes holding a tray of food. After two days of refusing meals from everyone else, the others didn't even bother to try and just sent Harry up to her.

Those three days were spent in guilty mourning. She barely slept and when sleep managed to claim her she was visited by nightmares of darkness, phantom caresses, and a sibilant voice that should not have comforted her as much as it did. Her waking hours were spent fighting off memories. It seemed that no matter how she tried to reconcile herself to the fact she would never see Tom Riddle again, her heart refused to accept it. Whenever one of the others would enter the house and slam the door shut, her heart would freeze, thinking it was Tom coming home from work. She held her breath when someone would walk up the stairs and pause before her bedroom. It reminded her of when Tom would pass by their kitchen and pause in the entryway to listen to her hum and sing.

But the moments passed and her heart would fall each time it was denied the person she most longed to see. The person she would never see again.

She heard his voice sometimes, as surely as he was standing behind her. She could sometimes feel the small tuft of air as if he hovered behind her whispering into her ears. She could imagine feeling his lips brush softly against her earlobe.

"_You are mine, Hermione,"_ his voice would echo in her head. She'd jump and spin around in her chair. But Tom was never there.

She ventured out of her room on the fourth day. Remus had prepared a light lunch and the boys had just sat down to eat when she entered the kitchen. The already silent room froze. Her hair was a mess, there were circles under her eyes, and her clothes were wrinkled.

"Hermione," Ron smiled.

She did not return his grin.

"Please, come in and eat, Hermione. I've just fixed us some sandwiches," Remus said.

She did not move from the doorway and remained silent as she stared vacantly at them. She had left her room because she'd been going nutters with Tom's voice in her head and she desired company to distract her.

"Sit Hermione," Severus said.

"Eat, you are far too thin," said Lucius.

She ignored them all and blinked, uncomprehending. But when Harry spoke, his voice was not forcefully cheerful like with Ron or Remus and it was not carefully neutral as with Lucius and Severus. He spoke to her as casually as one would inquire about the weather.

"You didn't finish breakfast this morning, Hermione," he said, very matter-of-fact. "Join us for lunch."

She moved into the room, taking the seat Harry vacated as he got up to fix her a plate.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked.

Hermione knew the answer to that was obvious, but she answered him anyway, her voice quiet. "No," she said.

He nodded. "Tonight I'll fix you a cup of the chamomile tea. It always worked when you made it for me."

"Alright," she said.

"And we'll do a spot of reading in the library before you sleep. Perhaps _Hogwarts, A History_. They've released a new edition, did you know?"

"I didn't."

"Well they have. Remus was able to snag a copy yesterday in Diagon Alley. It's been more popular than I'd have thought."

"Yeah," Ron jumped in. "Who'd have thought you weren't the only one to read it, eh Mione?"

Hermione set her sandwich down and pushed away her plate. "I'm not so hungry."

Harry nudged the plate back to her. "Nonsense. It's good, you'll see. Try it."

She did. It didn't taste bad, but it wasn't particularly good either. Food seemed to taste like ash to her these days.

Harry, who'd been watching her pointedly to make sure she ate, turned back to his own meal. "After this, we'll go read. I've already flipped through the new edition, but I want to know what you think about the revisions to chapter four, seven, and twelve."

Her eyes filled with tears as she dropped her sandwich again to look at him. Harry had never been good with depressed females and she wondered why he was the only one who seemed to know exactly what to say. Why was it that everyone else's company was nearly unbearable, but his presence was not? She wondered where this new Harry had come from. How was he able to show up the instant her thoughts and sorrow overwhelmed her? How did he know exactly what to do and say?

He looked up from his meal, feeling her eyes on him, and smiled slightly. His eyes were kind and unassuming. There was no pity there. It came to her then, as their eyes locked, what Harry was doing and how he knew what to say. He was treating her the same way she'd treated him after Dumbledore's death. This wasn't some hidden facet of his personality; he was just doing what he knew she would in the same situation.

"I've missed you, Harry," she whispered.

No one else heard her. She thought for a second he hadn't either, but then he reached across the table and squeezed her hand in his. "I know, Mione, I know."

She came down for meals regularly after that, although she never ate as much as everyone thought she should. She showered each morning, donned clean clothes everyday, she'd read in the library or sometimes in the backyard, and each night Harry would sit with her in the kitchen and they'd drink tea in comforting silence. She generally spoke only when spoken to and often felt annoyed when anyone other than Harry would attempt to strike up a conversation.

"Up for some wizard's chess, then?" Ron asked each time she would enter a room.

"Do you want to talk, Hermione?" Remus would say, frowning in concern.

Severus and Lucius would always say the same thing. "You need to talk eventually," they'd say. They were right of course, but Hermione was finally beginning to feel something other than emptiness or sorrow. She was starting to feel the pangs of resentment, anger, and betrayal.

"_They lied to you, Hermione,"_ Tom whispered to her every time she saw them fall silent each time she walked into the room. They'd obviously been talking about her. _"They don't deserve your love."_

It was three days short of two weeks when Ron snapped.

"Want to play wizard's chess, Mione?" he asked as she entered the library.

"No," she saidd. "I've no desire to watch little stone pieces club each other to death, Ronald, and I'll thank you to stop asking."

"Bloody hell, Hermione. What's with the mood swings? Even you can't be on the rag for two weeks straight, are you pregnant or what?"

"Quiet Ron," Remus frowned in warning.

"Silence Weasley," Lucius hissed, his eyes narrowed in threat.

Ron, of course, ignored the warnings. "No, I'll not shut it. I'm tired of being ignored. I'm tired of having to act like she's a spooked cat that'll run if I so much as move. It's time she got over him anyway, no good piece of dragon dung he is-"

"Shut up!" Hermione roared, and so surprised at her yell, he did. "You've no right, Ronald Weasley. No right at all to be talking about him like that. You don't know him like I do. You didn't see him the way I did. I would have been dead within the first week had it not been for him. He saved me from it all. _He saved me_!" she was crying as her voice grew louder with each word and her control on her rioting emotions slipped.

"_Yes, I did save you,"_ Tom said to her. _"And I'll save you again if you want me to. I'll save you from these blood traitors. They don't love you. They don't know you like I do."_

She shook her head but his voice still lingered. When she spoke again, her words wobbled and her hands shook. "I'll thank you not to speak of my husband again."

She fled.

Back in her room, Hermione sat stiffly on her bed, tears rolling down her face as Tom's ghost comforted her.

"_They do not deserve your tears, Hermione. They are beneath you. Think on them no longer."_

She cried harder.

"_Do not be so weak. You are stronger than this, my dear. You are above them."_

She shook her head. She could not believe such blasphemous thoughts. She refused to even entertain them.

"_Do not be so modest. You know I speak the truth. You do not belong with them. Your place is with me,"_ his voice was dark and alluring, and in her mind's eye she could see his hand reaching out to her, palm up, offering her the world in a hand basket for the price of her soul.

Such a tempting offer, though.

A knock sounded at the door and Hermione jumped and her hand, which had risen unbidden as if to take Tom's, jerked to her face as she rubbed away her tears. She did not speak and hoped that whoever was outside would take her silence as a dismissal and leave her be.

Such was not the case.

The door opened and Severus entered.

"Hermione," he said softly into the room's darkness.

"Leave me be, Severus," she said. Had it been Harry, she might have let him stay and he could sit with her in silence until she fell asleep, a routine that was increasingly more common each night.

"No," he said. He was still speaking quietly, but she recognized the underlying steel in his words. He would not be leaving anytime soon. "I've brought you something. It is time to stop hiding from you past. Embrace it, accept it, and move on."

He held out an envelope that she took after a slight hesitation. She had no inkling as to its contents, but what she found inside was probably the last thing she would have expected.

_Hermione,_

_I confess myself at a loss. For years I have pondered how best to express my regret for the pain and sorrow I'm sure you are experiencing. How does one apologize for the way things must be? These few words may seem but a cold comfort to you at present, but perhaps years from now you will look back on this old fool and no longer feel anger and resentment, but instead acceptance and forgiveness. Wishful thinking on my part, mayhap, but as I write this and think of you know that I feel a fondness that would have been reserved for my daughter had I been blessed with one._

_But I, too, feel sorrow and regret for what I now must ask of you. The road before you is part of my own orchestration, and it is long and it is narrow. A path that you alone must travel. It will be hard, of that I have no doubt, but perhaps at the end of your journey you will find happiness and peace. Merlin knows that you, Hermione, deserve both._

_You know what must be done. Denial serves best the weak and ignorant, and you are neither. I wish I could be there with you. I wish I could shoulder your burden to take as my own, but such a thing is impossible._

_If you are reading this, I have left this life and started a new adventure, and I deeply regret that I have nothing to offer you but mere words you will find empty despite their earnestness._

_But know that you are not alone, not by any means. There are those who will help you in any capacity you need. Those who love and care for you, and will follow you no matter where you choose to lead them. The time has come, Hermione, not only to choose between what is right and wrong, but also what is easy._

_I have the utmost faith that you will choose correctly._

_You know the question and you have the answers. Use them well._

_With deep and sincere fondess,_

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore _

She blinked after reading the letter, her mind curiously blank.

"He wrote it after he realized the full extent of the damage caused by the ring."

Hermione did not look away from the letter even as she lowered it quietly to her lap. She stared intently at the flowing, slightly pointed print. There was a small ink stain on the bottom right corner and she wondered, the first thought to cross her mind after reading it, why he hadn't banished it away.

"I got the impression that he wished there was more he could say," Severus said. "He wrote at least three drafts."

Hermione looked away from the letter, but refused to meet his eyes and chose instead to look out the sole window of her room. The moon was half full and filled her room with pale ribbons of moonlight.

"Hermione," Severus's tone lacked its usual bite, but there was no short of disapproval in it.

"What?" she snapped back.

Severus sat beside her. "Self-pity does no become you. The world does not stop turning even if ours falls apart. There is much yet to do."

She laughed, her tears spilling onto Albus's letter and smearing the ink. She watched as the newly wet ink bled on the parchment. "What would you have me do, Severus? What do you want from me? I've played my part. What more could you possibly want? Haven't I given enough? I don't-" she sobbed. "I don't have anything left to give."

She felt his hand tentatively touch her shoulder. "I would have you happy again, Hermione. I would have you smile."

Happy. When she thought about the word all she could picture was Thomas in his dress robes, he was always handsome but in his evening wear he was gorgeous, smiling ever so softly as they danced, their wedding rings catching the dim light in the restaurant and winking out like two stars in the night. She had been happy in Tom Riddle's arms, dancing the night away.

"My husband is dead," she said. "And you want me to be happy?"

"It is unwise to dwell only on sorrow. You are not the only one to have lost someone you love," Severus whispered.

He was right. She was not the only one to have suffered from loss. Harry had lost almost everyone dear to him. Remus was the last true Marauder. Lucius was separated from his family, and Severus had lost his own life and chance at happiness. He'd offered up both on the altar to sacrifice for the cause.

"I've lost my husband not to death, but to his own darkness," Hermione said. "It's different."

"To an extent," Severus allowed.

She shook her head. "No, not to an extent. It is entirely different. It was always there, of course, lurking behind every glance and every touch. But I- I thought, foolishly maybe, that I could stop it. I was never meant to, was I? I only delayed the inevitable."

"Time is a paradox. You cannot change that which has already happened."

"Is it all my fault, then?" she asked. "Did I make him what he is today?"

"No," he said firmly. "Tom Riddle chose his own path, as you must now do."

"_Your path ends with me, Hermione. No matter what you choose, I'll come for you. You are mine."_

She frowned. "Has he called a meeting?"

"No," he said. "He has been relatively inactive since your return."

"Maybe he doesn't know yet."

"You know that is not true. If Potter knows, so does the Dark Lord."

"Does he- will he try to kill me?" she asked.

"_Never, my dear. You are mine. I always protect that which is mine."_

"No," Severus said. "We do not believe so. It is unclear still what his intentions are."

Hermione looked back down at the letter. 'You know the question and you have the answers.'

"_Do not lie to yourself. I hold the answers, Hermione. Do not defy me."_

She ignored him. She knew what was expected of her now. Severus was right. There would be plenty of time to mourn Tom Riddle after the fact. Right now, they had Lord Voldemort to worry about.


	27. It's Not Fair

_(A/N): All I'm going to say is I KNOW...I know I was too long, I KNOW..._

_Carpe Diem_

_Chapter 27_

It was weird that she could be dreaming while being conscious of the fact that she was. Hermione was sitting in the restaurant she and Tom frequented quite often since having their first year anniversary dinner there. People moved about her, faceless and unassuming as they fretted to and fro in a speed that was unnatural. They were unimportant, though, and Hermione only glanced at them curiously before dismissing them.

Her movements were slow and unhurried. She unfolded the pristine white napkin and placed it gently on her lap, wondering all the while why she was dreaming of this place. She could hear the clinking of silverware and the dull mumblings of voices, but she felt as if she saw and heard everything through water. Everyone was talking and moving like someone had hit fast-forward, but Hermione was content to sit calmly in her chair and mildly sip her wine. She was only dreaming, after all.

A throat cleared.

Hermione looked up. Tom was sitting across from her, just as calmly as she sat. He smiled slightly when he had her attention, and it was a slow, lazy movement. Their eyes connected and it was as if they were alone in the posh restaurant. The world was buzzing around them with people speeding through life, but they were unaware of them.

They gazed into each other's eyes, content with their staring contest.

Hermione lost. She blinked and smiled softly. "What an odd dream I'm having," she said.

Tom cocked his head in a condescending manner. "This is not a dream," he told her.

She laughed. "Of course it is, Thomas. Look around."

After passing a casual, sweeping glance around them where strangers were zipping and zooming around their table he turned back to her, unimpressed. "What of them?"

She sat up straighter. "If this isn't a dream, what is it then?"

"A moment," he said. "A moment stolen in time."

Hermione frowned. "I don't understand."

Tom gave her his most charismatic smile. "You don't have to understand."

"But I always have to understand," she said. Her frown was becoming more prominent and her heart was starting to beat faster with confusion. "I don't think I like this dream."

Tom was also getting upset. "I told you this isn't a dream," he snapped.

But Hermione wasn't really listening to him. Her heart was racing; her breath was starting to hitch; her palms were starting to get sweaty. "This isn't right," she said. "Why is everyone moving so quickly? This isn't natural."

"Calm down," Tom said.

"I think I should wake up now," Hermione nodded earnestly as she popped up and out of her chair.

Tom laughed. "Do you really think so? Do you really want to wake up, Hermione?"

"Yes," she said. "Of course I do."

Tom shook his head. "What will you wake up to? Your pathetic little friends? They're nothing to us, Hermione. Sit down."

She obeyed out of shock more than anything else. "Thomas?" she asked, her voice quivering uncertainly.

"You think you want to wake up, Hermione, but you don't. There's nothing there for you."

"But there's Ron," she said, "And Severus, Remus, Lucius, and Harry."

His features darkened. "Potter," he spat. "He won't be around for much longer. Don't get used to his company."

A shiver of fear dance down her spine. "Why are you talking this way?"

He sneered. "Isn't it obvious?"

Biting her lip, she said, "I just want to go home. Please, let me go home."

He was getting angry at her again. "You are home," he growled. "You won't leave me again."

"What are you talking about?" she whimpered. Confusion was an emotion she was not used to feeling, and her head was starting to spin dangerously.

"You're mine, Hermione," Tom leaned forward, a cold sneer twisting his full lips. The same lips he'd used to trace every line of her body and kiss every inch of her skin until she'd fall apart in his arms, knowing that he would always catch her. "You'll never leave here."

Her vision was starting to blur and her chest was burning. "I don't feel so well." The words were slurred and ran together as if she were punch drunk.

The first sign of real emotion crossed Tom's face and when he frowned at her, it was in concern and not anger. "Hermione?"

She shook her head to clear away the fogginess, but it only made things worse. "Everything's spinning."

Tom reached across the table and clutched at her hands. His hands were calloused and his fingernails were longer than he'd ever kept them and were tinted a sickly black at the tips. They were cold, too. Tom had always been a cold person, and the shock of his icy touch was enough to temporarily stop her spinning head.

"Do you see now?" he asked, and his voice was like nothing she'd ever heard before. He spoke in a hissing whisper that sounded familiar even though she was reasonably certain she'd never heard it before. She didn't look up from his hands, though- she didn't think they were his. "When you wake up, I won't be there. Is that what you want? To leave me again?"

"I don't want to leave you," she obediently said.

"Yesss," he hissed encouragingly.

She looked up then. Tom was staring at her intently, his brow puckered in concentration. Tiny beads of sweat were starting to form at his hairline, and his dark green eyes were two, unfeeling stones. He blinked and when he opened his eyes again they were on fire.

Hermione tugged her hand, but his grip was unrelenting. "You're not Thomas," she said, fear squeezing her heart.

He smiled again, but there was nothing charismatic about it. His grip tightened with bruising strength, and she felt his sharp nails biting into her skin, injecting her with his venom. She struggled against him, but the room was spinning again and the burning in her chest increased. She couldn't look away from his eyes. They were glowing an undeniable red, and the fire in them consumed her.

When she screamed, the world tilted.

"No," his voice was angry and defiant. "You can't leave me."

But she was already gone. She awoke with a choked scream caught in her throat. Her sheets were twisted around her legs like little snakes and she kicked them off violently, hating the feel of being tied down. In that brief moment when her racing mind was caught between sleep and awake, she heard his voice reach out and caress her.

"_You're mine…"_

She shivered. It was her imagination getting the best of her, nothing more.

Hermione flopped back down onto her bed, eyes staring wide at the ceiling. There were cobwebs in the right corner of her room, and the beige wallpaper was start peel on the right wall where it met the ceiling. It was dark in the room, and the silence she laid in was painful.

She sat up again. There would be no point in attempting sleep, not with her mind still racing at the implications of her nightmare.

"That's right. Only a nightmare, Hermione," she said to herself as she slipped on a light robe and made her way downstairs to the kitchen. The sound of her voice was oddly comforting in the sleeping house.

"Some tea does sound nice," she said as she entered the kitchen.

She opened the nearest cabinet, wincing as pain shot through her right wrist and up her arm. She pulled the offending appendage to her and frowned at it as she rubbed it gently. Pulling her arm within an inch from her face, Hermione could make out five, bleeding half-moon cuts on the inside of her wrist, and with a flash, she saw herself in the dream again struggling to break free of Tom's grasp as his nails bit deeply into her skin. Her wrist throbbed in acknowledgment and Hermione gasped.

"No ordinary dream," she told herself. Her whispery tone was unnaturally loud and startled her. She no longer found comfort in talking to herself.

And Tom's voice wouldn't stop echoing in her head. _Mine, mine, mine_…

Scared, Hermione abandoned her tea knowing it would be a weak comfort. She thought of waking Harry, but dismissed the idea before her feet could even touch the stairs. He of all people deserved some rest.

When faced with the desire to escape and forget, Hermione turned to the library. The Black Library was an impressive collection of books about varying degrees of dark arts, the worst of which had been removed and safely locked away in a Gringotts vault. Without looking at the title, Hermione plucked a book off a shelf and settled down into the large armchair across from the fire. Obediently, the fireplace blared to life giving her just enough light to read by if she squinted her eyes and focused.

Books were like a soothing balm on her aching wounds, both emotional and physical. There was nothing quite like the dusty smell of an ancient tome to make Hermione breathe easier. With each page she read, her fear ebbed away and Tom's voice grew fainter and fainter as the ache in her wrist dulled. She never knew that mermaids used to be the representatives for magical creatures…how utterly fascinating!

She plowed through the book quicker than Ron could finish a Weasley dinner. When Ron crossed her mind, Hermione felt the stirrings of anger over his lack of sensitivity, although she certainly wasn't surprised. She'd always maintained he had the emotional range of a teaspoon.

His words from yesterday were both harsh and not. A part of her knew he'd blown up in an act of desperation. He'd never liked seeing her upset and he'd felt helpless. Perhaps she herself had been too harsh on him. It wasn't his fault if he couldn't understand why she was mourning a man that became the murderer of their best friend's parents. He had only known her husband as Lord Voldemort. He hadn't seen the way Tom Riddle could smile, or the way he saved her in every way a woman could be saved. Ron hadn't seen the way Tom stood by her, protected her, and cared for her. Tom married her despite her being muggleborn. He let her cook and clean like a muggle because it made her happy. He even harassed a shop owner into hiring her when no one else would take her seriously. He may have been destined, or fated, or whatever such term one wanted to use, to become Lord Voldemort, or maybe he always had been the Dark Lord. But he hadn't always been darkness and death. There had been laughter in his eyes once, and tenderness in his touch.

At least there had been when it came to her.

It was such a tangled web. Everything seemed to be happening all at once, and not at all. There was no movement on the Death Eater front even though she'd been back for two weeks now. They had no clue where to look for the next horcrux, and even if they denied it, Hermione knew they were waiting on her to magically recall some event or moment that would give the next one away.

As if Tom had come out and told her, "Hermione, just in case you decide to betray and kill me one day, I made a map of where I keep my horcruxes, and a list of counter spells so you can reach them. Hope this will help. Ta-ta!"

Yesterday had been the first time she consciously acknowledged she even would betray Tom in the first place. For a while, she could honestly admit that the idea of packing up and moving to France was not too far-fetched. Let someone else deal with it, she'd selfish thought on sleepless nights.

But of course, there was no one else, and Harry would come to her in the morning with a subdued smile and breakfast and her Efile Tower dreams would come crashing down. As if she had any right to be complaining when Harry Potter was still there, having lost more than anyone. Harry was still there, wasn't he? Why couldn't she be as strong as him?

Depression was eating her away, and she would feel guilty about being sad- certainly she had no right to be mourning- and guilty about feeling guilty. Resentment would come next, she knew, if she wasn't careful. She had a right to her feelings, Hermione told herself. She could mourn Thomas; he was her husband after all. It was not fair to compare her situation to Harry's since they were two separate entities.

Telling herself made no difference. She would feel the way she felt, and there was nothing to it. She felt like she was lost at sea without Tom, she felt guilty for missing him as much as she did, she wanted to escape and flee the upcoming war, and she felt guilty that she wasn't strong enough to overcome her depression and guilty that she couldn't bring herself to help Harry as actively as she used to. That's that.

She even felt like giving up and turning herself in to Lord Voldemort.

"Hello husband, long time no see. Do what you will with me then, I'm tired of waiting!"

Tom had been patient, but she never had been. She'd spent so many months worrying about coming back to her time that she forgot to think about what would happen once she got there.

"It's not fair," she mumbled. And of course it wasn't. It was childish to presume anything in life would be fair. Hermione learned that the hard way, constantly working harder than everyone else because she was muggleborn and had to prove she deserved magic. It wasn't fair for Harry for being thrust into the role of savior at such a young age. Why couldn't he just enjoy his youth?

It wasn't fair to Thomas. Why did time have to steal his wife right out of his arms? Would things have been different had she never left?

No, Hermione shook off her thoughts. It was best not to travel down the what-if road or she would drive herself mad. Instead, she attempted to shake off the bad thoughts and focus on what she was thankful for.

She was definitely glad to have Harry and Ron, and Severus and Lucius back. She was actually happy that Harry and Ron had known about what would happen before she did which gave them enough time to accept and forgive her without her having to deal with accusations now that she's back. She was grateful that they _had_ been able to come to terms with her past. And yes, she was kind of happy that she and Ron could still snipe at each other when there were bigger things to worry about. Because she and Ron arguing was something normal, something that gave Hermione hope that things could go back, maybe not exactly as they were, but close enough.

There was nothing subtle about Ron, really. His red face and angry words drifted through her mind. _"Bloody hell, Hermione. What's with the mood swings? Even you can't be on the rag for two weeks straight, are you pregnant or what?"_

Hermione gasped and for the first time she processed his words. Shock poured down her back, and her wrist began throbbing again as she analyzed the probability of such an occurrence.

Her hand went down to caress her abdomen. As terrible as such a prospect was, as terrifying as it would be… maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Logically, she knew that it would be bad, but if there was a child- she could find hope again. A part of her husband would have survived and remained untouched by darkness. She could have a little boy with soft black hair and innocent green eyes that would sparkle with laughter in a way his father's never had. Maybe then, when faced with her smiling son, she could forget Tom. Maybe then she could have closure and could move on.

It was possible for her to be pregnant. They'd been a passionate couple and while Tom had always been sure to murmur a contraception charm against her lips, it was easy to forget a syllable or word in the heat of the moment.

She sat stiffly in a moment suspended in time. What would she do if she was pregnant? Or worse, what would she do if she wasn't? Could she handle another loss? Her fingers drummed lightly against the taut skin of her abdomen. There was only one way to be certain.

Her fingers ceased their idle strumming and she reached into the pocket of her night robe to pull out her wand, pressing the tip just bellow her stomach as she said the words.

Nothing happened.

Her hand fell and she released a shaky sigh that was nearly a sob. It had been foolish of her to hope. Driven by passion or no, Tom had never miscast a charm in his life.

Fat tears rolled down her cheeks and his voice was back, dripping honeyed poison into her ear. _"Hush now, I will give you what you want…Come to me, Hermione, and you will have the world at your feet."_

Her wrist was hurting and it wouldn't stop, and she could not shake away his words as easily as she had before. She could feel his lips brushing her ear as his words echoed enticingly in her head. _"Come to me…come to me…"_

"No," she whispered.

She could her him laughing and her wrist gave another painful spasm in response. _"You will come…soon…"_

"Leave me alone, it's not fair," she said. "It's not fair."

"No one ever said it would be, Granger."

Hermione jumped at the addition of a new voice and twisted around to see Draco Malfoy leaning against a bookshelf.

"But I guess you're not, Granger anymore, eh?" He smirked at her and it reminded her so much of Tom that her heart began to bleed.


	28. The Voices in my Head

(A/N): Hope you all enjoy! I love reading everyone's guesses about what'll happen…but you'll all just have to wait and see!

_CARPE DIEM_

_Chapter 28_

For a moment, she was back in the past and looking at a cocky Abraxas Malfoy as he taunted her. She blinked and Abraxas was gone and Draco remained. His left shoulder was propped against the entryway and he wore a white button down shirt that was half tucked into black slacks. In the darkness of the room his blonde hair was like a beckon of white light.

"Who- what?" she said.

"So articulate," he grinned.

It was far too early in the morning to be dealing with this, Hermione decided.

"So Granger is out," he was speaking again. "What am I to call you now? Hermione is far too informal, wouldn't you say? She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is too many syllables. Riddle is just ridiculous. Lady V could work, what do you say?"

She blinked owlishly. "W-What?"

He sighed as he moved into the room and took the chair to her right. In a graceful heap of limbs he collapsed onto the cushion and sighed once more for dramatic effect. "Not a morning person, eh? I wasn't much of one either, but did you know that the muggles have this drink called coffee? It'd wake up Potter's parents, I swear!"

Hermione gapped. The whole moment was so surreal she was sure this was nothing but a dream. She must have fallen asleep on the couch.

"Cat got your tongue?" Draco was grinning in the most peculiar way.

"What are you doing here?" she finally spoke, the words sounding like a harsh accusation even in her own ears.

"Didn't he tell you?"

Her head was starting to ache and her wrist still throbbed dully. She was not in the mood for his stupid games. "Obviously not, Malfoy, so if you don't want a ferret relapse, I suggest you tell me what the bloody hell you're doing here."

"My, my, not very friendly. I left my mother at our safe house. It was a bit boring there with nothing to do but lounge on the beach. Gets right old, it does. So I flooed father, told him I wanted to come back, came back even though he forbade it, and viola! Here I am."

Shaking her head, Hermione could feel her headache growing. "Does anyone else know you're here yet?"

His smile widened. "Nope. I'm sure father suspects I'm on my way- I'm surprised, by the way, he didn't warn you. I only just arrived to find you talking to yourself. Few knuts short of a sickle, huh?"

"What do you even care? You hate me, remember? I don't want to deal with you right now. There's an empty room up the stairs and to the right. It's across from your father's. Go away and leave me alone."

Draco shook his head. "Don't hate you," he surprised her by saying. "Don't particularly like you, but I don't hate you. I hate Potter and Weasley, though. Right gits they are. You're not too bad when you keep your mouth shut. And I don't feel like going to bed, thank you. Not tired."

"You're annoying," she said.

"I know," he smiled.

"I don't want you here," she said.

Draco shrugged. "I don't care."

"Fine. Stay. I'll leave," she rose with a huff and spun sharply on her heel.

She did not go back to bed, knowing that sleep would elude her and that should she even fall asleep she may dream once more. Instead, she made her way to the kitchen. It was later than she thought it had been, or earlier depending on how one looked at it. Sunrise wasn't that far off and she knew Remus would be awakening soon, followed shortly by Lucius and Severus. Harry and Ron always awoke last, sometimes sleeping in until noon.

Breakfast sounded good. Going into the kitchen, Hermione went from cupboard to cupboard, taking out a pot here and a skillet there. She moved quickly, trying to distract her mind from her nightmare, from Tom's voice that still echoed around her, and from Draco Malfoy who had followed her into the kitchen.

"What are you making?"

She sighed and slammed a pot onto the stove. "Breakfast," she said.

"I'm famished. I like my eggs over easy."

She glared into a mixing bowl. "Then that's how you should make them," she said in false sweetness.

Draco sat at the table. "Don't be ridiculous. Malfoys don't cook."

Hermione huffed. "Then Malfoys will starve."

Despite her words, though, she cooked the eggs over easy. She moved from one counter to another and soon, Draco Malfoy and his annoying comments ceased to reach her ears. The kitchen of Grimmauld place seemed to disappear and she found herself in her old kitchen in the apartment she'd shared with Tom.

By the time she started making the sausage she was humming lightly.

"What are you singing?"

The spell snapped and Hermione slammed back into the present. She wasn't at home, this wasn't her kitchen. This was Harry's kitchen. There was no reason to sing anymore.

"Nothing," she whispered. She didn't notice the sausage was burning.

"You were singing something, don't be shy now, Lady V. What were you singing?"

"You insensitive git, go back to Australia before I have to explain to your father why he no longer has an heir!"

"You wouldn't have to explain why, Hermione, when I'm sure even Narcissa can hear you all the way in Australia."

Draco smirked and turned to look at the new occupant. "Father," he greeted.

Lucius narrowed his eyes. "Draco," his voice was clipped and full of disappointment. "I thought I told you not to come."

Hermione watched in satisfaction as Draco looked down at his shoes. "I was bored," he said.

"Really Draco," Severus tutted. Hermione hadn't seen him behind Lucius.

Draco shrugged and Hermione grew annoyed.

_Really Hermione, you would choose them over me?_ Tom's voice asked her.

"Yes," she said stubbornly.

"What did you say?" Severus's eyes were boring into hers.

"Nothing. I've cooked breakfast, eat up and then hide the ferret. If our shouting woke you up, the others are bound to follow."

"Too late," Remus voiced as he appeared into the kitchen. "Your cooking could wake a dead man, Hermione. Ron will smell it in his sleep and be here any minute."

And of course, now that Remus said it, she could hear Ron and Harry coming down the stairs.

"I can smell breakfast, Harry. Hurry up before it's all gone!"

"They know to make extra, Ron. Be quiet before you wake Mione, she needs her rest."

"I didn't mean to snap at her, Harry," Ron said, his voice growing closer. "Think she'll forgive me?"

She could hear Harry sigh. "She always does, Ron, but you need to be more careful. It isn't the same any more. She needs our help now."

"I know, I know, but- but what in the bloody hell is _he_ doing here!" Ron had walked into the kitchen first, his face turning red when he spotted Draco.

"Yes," Harry was considerably more calm, but just as angry. "What is the ferret doing here?"

Hermione could feel the tension mounting and decided it was time to forget about her own problems and focus on the most pressing ones.

"Harry, Ron," she said briskly, dusting her hands on her night robe. "I've made breakfast. Come and eat before it gets cold."

She spoke in a tone she hadn't used in quite some time and she could only imagine that it worked for that very reason. Harry and Ron sat at the table obediently, most likely out of habit. She placed plates in front of them and Ron immediately dug in. Harry was a little more hesitant. He ate slowly, his eyes darting around from person to person and lingering on Hermione as he studied her thoughtfully.

"What are you doing up so early? I know you went to bed late, you should be resting," he said.

She paused as every set of eyes focused on her, each person silently agreeing with him. Deciding not to worry them, Hermione said, "I've rested plenty, Harry. I've only just awoken."

"That's right, I accidentally stumbled in her room when I arrived. She nearly took my head off for it," Draco said casually, and Hermione was grateful. He was tucking into his eggs with nary a pause and said, "Thanks for the eggs, Lady V."

Harry gasped, Ron choked, and Lucius glared reproachfully at his son.

"Don't call her that," Ron spluttered as he went for his wand.

"How dare you!" Harry concurred.

"Really, Lucius, you should control your son," Severus spoke in a low hiss.

Everyone started arguing again and Hermione observed them casually. Lucius and Severus were lecturing Draco sternly who merely continued to eat his eggs. Remus was holding Harry and Ron back and was having a devil of a time restraining them from hexing the young Slytherin. Their voices were all mingling and Hermione could only make out bits and pieces of what was being said.

"-I've told you many times, Draco-"

"Ruddy ferret!"

"-He's got no right!"

"This requires delicacy-"

"And cunning."

"Did you hear what he called her?"

"She is our salvation. Only she can release us from the vow."

"You'd do well to remember your place."

_This is your Order, Hermione? This is who you side with?_

She laughed. Tom was right, of course, he always was. She laughed even as the tears fell from her eyes. She was still laughing even as the arguments stopped and they all looked at her as if she'd fallen off her rocker.

"Listen to you all," she said with a bitter chuckle. "We don't stand a chance. He will tear us apart quicker than you can say 'Quidditch.' We can't even eat breakfast together."

Silence engulfed them and Hermione was glad to see shame in their eyes.

"Yes," she hissed, oddly pleased by their guilt. "You should be ashamed of yourselves. You lot are pathetic- arguing about something so minor. So young Draco Malfoy has decided to come and fight. I say good. That's one more wand on our side. We can't afford to turn anyone away and you all know that. I'm amazed you've lasted this long against him if this is how the Order operates."

They flinched and stared at her in shock as a slight sneer curled her lips. She unconsciously tilted up her nose as if offended by their presence, and she was only half aware of the words spilling out of her mouth.

"Pathetic," she repeated, and her wrist throbbed and she felt a sort of satisfaction in that, like it was agreeing with her.

_Tell them, Hermione. They are beneath you now. Tell them_, Tom whispered.

"Beneath me," she echoed.

Harry hissed and slapped a hand to his scar.

"What's going on?" Ron sounded scared.

"Something's happening," Harry gasped in pain. "He's happy right now. Something's happening."

"Hermione?" Lucius's tone was calculating as he stared at her carefully, sizing her up.

She frowned. Her headache was back and her wrist hurt more than it had before. She felt it throbbing painfully and the room was starting to tilt dangerously. What had she been saying?

"He's doing something to her," Harry's voiced sound muffled.

"Shut up," she spat, and they stopped talking again, staring at her carefully. "Always arguing and nothing gets done."

_That's right. Doesn't that make you angry?_

"Shut up," she said.

_Doesn't that make you want to hurt them?_

"Never."

_Don't be so sure of yourself, my pet._

"SHUT UP!"

The window above the sink shattered and Hermione jumped at the sound.

"Hermione," Severus spoke softly, but she jumped as though he had raised his hand to strike her. "You weren't speaking to us, were you?"

She looked around the room. Her eyes were no longer hard and her face no longer sneering. Instead she was confused and tired, and her wrist was still hurting.

"I don't feel so well," she slurred.

Harry was staring at her, his eyes wide and knowing. "It was him, wasn't it?"

She frowned.

"That's why my scar was hurting," Harry continued. "He was here, wasn't he? I could feel him- in you."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Harry," she said.

"Potter's right," Severus was saying, his eyes never leaving hers. "He's been connecting with you."

Lucius nodded. "It makes sense."

"I don't understand," Ron said.

Draco snorted. "No one's surprised about that, Weasel."

Hermione winced as her head gave a twinge. "I'm fine. Everything's fine," she assured.

No one believed her of course.

Shaking her head, Hermione lifted her hand up to smooth her bushy locks out of her face, and the sleeve of her robe hung down at her elbow.

"Merlin, Hermione, what happened to your wrist?"

Ron's comment drew everyone's attention and when Hermione pulled her hand out of her hair her gaze fell to the wrist in question. In the early morning darkness, she hadn't really had a chance to have a good look at it, but the sun was up now and illuminated the five, vivid black half-moons on the inside of her wrist, four on one side, and one on the other. Tiny black lines darted out from each mark, making them look angry and infected.

"I- I had a dream," she said dazedly.

"You don't get marks like that from a dream," Draco pointed out.

She didn't like how everyone was watching her.

"It's nothing," she said stubbornly, angry at them again. She pulled her sleeve back down and glared at them accusingly.

"Come on, Hermione," Harry encouraged her gently. "You'd want me to tell the truth too."

She bit her lip. "I had a dream, I told you. Tom was there. He grabbed my wrist. I must have done it to myself subconsciously in effect."

Harry shook his head. "You know that's not true."

Her wrist was still burning, her head was still aching, and now she felt like there was a dead weight sitting on her chest. Reaching up, Hermione's hand went to her neck to play with the gold chain of her locket before she remembered it was no longer there. Her fingers grazed smooth skin and she felt her nervousness double. Tom had held on to her locket as he had tried to hold on to her. The chain had snapped and she was pulled away as it stayed behind.

A faint memory tickled her mind. They'd been cleaning the house during their fifth year and they'd stumbled across an old locket with a giant 'S' engraved on the front. She felt a spark of recognition as her fingers caressed it, but she'd been unable to open it. No one had been able to open it.

"My locket," she whispered faintly.

They looked at her like she was going crazy, and perhaps she was. Perhaps her grief finally pushed her into the deep end. She heard Tom's voice everywhere, she responded to the voice as if it belonged to a real person, and she was having strange dreams. And now she was talking to herself.

"It's here," she said softly. "It's always been here."

"What has?" Harry asked the question they were all thinking.

"The locket," she stressed, uncaring that she sounded absolutely mental. "_The locket, Harry_."

She saw realization flicker in his eyes.


	29. A Winking Locket

(A/N): Did you really think I'd abandon you all? I know it's unforgivable for me to have taken this long. I owe it to all of you to keep going. I'll never stop writing for you all, but sometimes, life happens. Anyway, I hope you enjoy – and just so you know, half of the next chapter is already written...

Carpe Diem

Chapter 29

Retrieving the locket ended up being as easy as Harry summoning Kreacher and giving him a carefully worded order to fetch it. The old house elf had mumbled about "poor master's treasure" being in the hands of "blood traitors and mudbloods" but obediently, the elf popped out of the room and back again, a gold chain dangling aloft in his hand he reluctantly extended to Harry. It had been easy enough when it had just been speculation, but now all anyone of them could do was stare at the gold trinket that winked a friendly hello in the muted light of the kitchen in Grimmauld Place.

Hermione's eyes burned as she stared intently at the necklace and when the light glinted off the gold she felt an answering throb in her wrist.

"_Why do you always do that?"_

_Hermione tore her gaze away from the bedroom window and looked at Tom with a distracted 'hm-m.' _

_A cool hand wrapped around hers from where she'd been squeezing her locket and moving it up and down on the chain. "That," he said._

_She lowered her hand from the necklace and curled her fingers through his. "I hadn't realized I was doing anything at all," she admitted._

_His eyes studied her with a calculating air. "You do it quite often," he pointed out._

_She frowned at him. Why did it feel like she was being accused? "I suppose it relaxes me," she said, her tone sharp and defensive._

_The right corner of his mouth lifted slightly in a crooked smirk. "Does it now?"_

_Her fingers tightened around his in warning. She was his wife now and they were beyond word games. "Careful Thomas," she said._

_His smirk widened and he ignored the warning. "Of what, dearest?"_

_Hermione supposed she should not be surprised or annoyed by anything Tom did anymore whether or not she wanted him to. She tightened her hold on him again, but this time her ire was fading under acceptance. Tom had to mock everything, even the smallest of habits, it was simply his nature and wife or no, Hermione was not excluded._

_Tom used their joined hands to pull her from the window seat and into his arms. Only when she was pressed against him and she stood no chance at escape did he release her hand, but only to wrap his arms around her, imprisoning her in his embrace._

_But she was such a willing prisoner. Always._

_His arms moved up and down her sides soothingly, coaxingly, and she smiled faintly as she felt the familiar twist of desire rise. Softly, his right hand slipped down her neck and covered the locket in an oddly protective manner where it rested by her heart, rising and falling with each breath she took._

"_You must always keep it with you," he murmured, his head dipping low towards hers. "Keep it safe."_

_Hermione frowned. She'd never taken it off, ever, and Thomas knew that. Still, there was a strange sense of urgency in his words that she could not ignore. "What does it do?" she asked._

_Like mist from the early morning, a memory drifted up and Hermione vaguely recalled asking him that same question when she was first gifted with the locket. But the do-not-notice charm Tom had placed on it began to kick in and the memory faded back into the recesses of her mind._

_But Tom must have been more distracted than normal because he answered her anyway. "Its an insurance policy. It keeps us safe."_

"_I don't know what you mean," Hermione said. As frustrating as that was, it was not unusual with Tom._

_His smirk returned and the heavy moment passed. His hand moved down confidently, lingering on her breast and his smirk widened when her breathing hitched. "Just keep it on. Always." _

_There was something he was keeping from her and she wanted so desperately to know what it was, but his touch was so distracting. "Thomas," she managed to breathe. "What does it do?"_

_His caresses became more persistent and she realized he was trying to make her forget. "I've already told you, love," his lips moved deftly against hers. "It keeps us safe. You want to be safe, don't you?"_

_She recalled with a sudden flash her rescue from Grindelwald. The locket had flared to life mere seconds before Tom's arrival and suddenly that took on a new meaning. "It's how you found me, isn't it? When I was-" _

_His lips cut her off again. His kiss was thorough, possessive, and oh so wonderful. "I will always find you, Hermione," he said, the arm around her waist tightening almost painfully and his other hand moving to fist her hair. "Always."_

_The single word had the ring of a vow and while Hermione wanted to find out more about her locket, Tom's touch proved even more effective than a forgetfulness charm._

Hermione's mind came back to the present. Harry cringed as Kreacher held it out to him. It was obvious he didn't want to touch it.

"Put it on the table and leave," Harry said.

Obediently, the locket was placed on the kitchen table and Kreacher left, mumbling about ungrateful mudbloods and blood traitors. No one paid him any mind. Instead, they gathered around the table and stared at the gold locket as though it would spring to life and attack them.

"What do we do now?" Ron was the first to speak.

Harry's jaw was firm as he grimly said, "We kill it."

Hermione's wrist throbbed angrily and her heart twitched.

Severus snorted. "Destroying a horcrux is a delicate process. It's not as easy as killing a person."

"And you would know, wouldn't you, Snape?" Harry said hotly, his cheeks flushing in his anger.

"Harry," Remus gently chided.

Severus was meeting Harry glare for glare. "Yes, Potter. I do know."

"Down Severus," Lucius smirked. He sounded more amused than concerned.

"A few good _reductos_ ought to do it. There's six of us here – if we all cast at the same time maybe we –"

"Don't be a fool, Weasley. We could take down the entire house that way," Lucius snapped.

Severus spoke next, "There are potions I can brew, but they will take time."

"No," Hermione finally spoke. They all turned to her but her eyes were steady on the locket as it glittered. "We can't destroy it. He'll know."

"But-" Ron began.

"She's right," Harry surprisingly agreed. He looked regretful about it, his eyes glinting and his lips thin. "He'd know if it was destroyed and then he'd move the others. It'd be near impossible to find them then."

"We don't know for sure he'd know," Ron said.

"Wouldn't you notice a piece of your soul dying, Weasel?"

"Shut up, ferret!"

_There they go again, Hermione. Your precious Order breaking down and I'm not even the one doing it. You'll be better off without them, you'll see_. Tom's voice was achingly gentle and amazingly convincing.

"Don't start that again," she snapped. She wasn't sure if she was talking to Ron and Malfoy or to the voice.

They all looked at her like she was a ticking bomb, like she would explode at any minute. And maybe she would. She didn't feel quite like herself; she hadn't for a while.

"Then what do we do?" Ron asked. He had his arms folded into a pout.

Hermione lifted her head. She was tired of being weak. Now was the time for action. "We keep it here until we find all the others. Then we destroy them all at once. He'll have no way to stop us then."

Severus and Lucius were looking at her thoughtfully. Slowly, Severus nodded. "She's right," he said, and the glint in his eye told her he was rather proud of her thinking.

_You think I don't already know, Hermione_?

She didn't even blink at Tom's voice even though a faint hint of doubt clouded her briefly. She shook the feeling. There was no way the voice in her head was actually Thomas. It was only a product of her stress.

_You don't really believe that. You know it's more than that. We've always been more_.

"You just shut up," she said.

"What was that, Hermione?" Remus asked.

She shook her head and ignored the concern looks on their faces. Well, not on Malfoy's. He looked rather amused.

"I said we can't destroy it," she lied.

"But we can't just leave it lying around either," Harry mused.

"Agreed Potter," Severus spoke. "It needs to be with one of us at all times."

"Who will take it?" Ron asked. He looked horrified at the prospect of carrying a bit of Voldemort's soul around with him wherever he went.

"Not with Harry," Remus said. "He's already in danger because of his connection with the Dark Lord, we don't know if having the locket would amplify it. We can't risk it."

"But I want to-"

"No one cares what you want," Severus interjected with a sneer.

"You can't keep it either, Severus, and neither of the Malfoys. You are all marked, just as Harry," Remus said. "I suppose I'll take it."

"We don't know what sort of defensive charms are on it," Lucius said. "Perhaps it's capable of possession just as the diary had been. Best no one touches it and we take shifts guarding it."

"That won't work," Severus disagreed. "We all have to be available in case of an attack. We need every wand we can get and there's not one to spare to guard it. It's not feasible."

Hermione spoke without thinking. "I will take it," she said. Her wrist thrummed in satisfaction and it twitched in its eagerness to reach out to the locket. Her locket.

"Hermione," Lucius murmured, his voice soft and gentle. "I don't think that's such a good idea."

_You must always keep it with you. It keeps us safe_...

Tears burned her eyes but she stubbornly pushed them back. _No more crying_, she told herself. _No more weakness. You've shed your tears_.

"I'm afraid we've no other choice. It's keyed to me," she said.

Silence met her statement before Remus asked hesitantly, "What exactly do you mean by that?"

When she responded, it wasn't necessarily to answer him more as it was her putting the pieces together for herself. "He gave it to me for Christmas. I never took it off, not once. I didn't even realize I was wearing it until Grindelwald. But it was spelled for me. It was always so cold, but it when he came for me it was on fire. It's how he found me. _Don't you see? He gave it to me. He wanted to protect me_."

Another silence.

"What does Grindelwald have to do with this?" Ron asked.

Her racing mind paused. "Didn't you know?" she frowned. "Didn't Min or Albus ever tell you?"

"Tell us what exactly?" Harry asked.

She bit her lip. "Part of my cover story for school was being a refuge from the war in France. Grindelwald found out. He wanted to know why I was important enough to run from him. They kidnapped me, I'm not sure where to, but they starved me. Tried to poison me. On the eighth day I met Grindelwald and before something really bad happen they came."

_I always protect what is mine_, Tom's voice whispered. _I will always come fore you_.

"Who came, Hermione?"

"Albus and Tom. I'd never seen Tom so angry. He killed Grindelwald without a second thought."

Ron looked confused. "But didn't Dumbledore kill Grindelwald? That's what it says on my chocolate frog card."

"No," Hermione insisted. "Tom killed Grindelwald."

_And I'd do it again. I'll kill anyone who tries to stand between us_.

Another silence. There seemed to be so much silence between them all even though they'd been bickering moments before.

Ron started as something just occurred to him. "You _wore_ that thing? You wore a horcrux around your neck for all to see?"

Despite that she knew him well enough to know he was disgusted at the prospect and not necessarily with her, his repulsive tone still cut deeply.

"Yes, Ronald," she sighed. "Although I never knew what it was."

"But it's evil," he said.

A wave of anger hit so suddenly she almost doubted it was completely hers. "And it has saved my life! I'm the only one who can wear it, the only one it won't turn on. This is the only way."

Still, no one looked entirely convinced and Hemrione sighed in annoyance, her hand finally stretching out to pick up the locket.

"Hermione don't-" Harry started.

But she snatched the locket up from the table faster than he had ever caught a snitch. She opened the clasp and put it on. There was a small glow as the clasp disappeared and then the locket fell over her heart, the cool metal and familiar weight making her sigh. The locket seemed to hum to, as though happy to be home.

_Never take it off_, Tom commanded her. _Our insurance policy_.

"See," Hermione's voice wobbled slightly. "No harm done. Problem solved."

Severus hissed. "Oh Hermione," he said, the words clipped and strangely pitying. "The problem has just begun."

"Severus?" Remus turned to him, frowning.

But Severus did not turn away from her, his eyes locking onto hers with a ferocity bordering on madness. "He's summoning me."

Hermione's mouth dropped open, but there were no words for the pain she felt. Severus was gone before she regained her ability to speak.

Miles away, but fewer than the Order would have liked, was a house. There were two levels, four bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a large kitchen. When the owner of said house had started looking at homes all those years ago he'd made sure to find one with a spacious kitchen. In fact, it was the kitchen that drew him to purchase this particular house. Oak cabinets lined the walls and it was already furnished with shiny, new appliances. When the realtor showed him in, he'd stood in the doorway to the kitchen and stared. If he squinted, he could see his wife scuttling from one counter to another. He could hear her humming now.

"I'll take it," he said, turning and walking out of the house. It took a moment for the realtor to snap out of his stupor and follow. Surely it wasn't going to be that easy. He hadn't looked at any other room.

But it was that easy. Paperwork was filled out, money was exchanged, and Ted Norris shook Tom Riddle's hand.

"Congratulations, Mr. Riddle. A new house is an extravagant anniversary gift. I'm sure your wife will love it."

Lord Voldemort's eyes flashed dangerously as he stared out of the nearest window. She would have loved it had she ever gotten the chance to see it.

Years later and the house remained. He'd kept it even though it served as a bitter reminder of what he couldn't have, not anymore. His visits were stretched thin across the years and he never bothered to decorate the hollow rooms. Dust settled over threadbare chairs and mice inhabited the once glorious kitchen.

After her injury in her fifth year, he came to the house again to prepare. Time had not dulled his memory of her in the slightest and he still recalled the curse scar on her chest she told him she received in a school accident, a scar that Dolohov dared leave on her body. It would be soon.

He'd been right. He was always right. Nearly two years passed and then it happened. She was gone and back before he could say _Avada Kedavra_. The instant it happened, he knew. As powerful as he was, he felt the rift in time open and then close, and felt the lump of cold rock in his chest stir briefly in realization. Gone and back again before he could analyze what that moment truly meant.

Now he felt a stirring within his chest as old charms were activated again. A link flared to life, one that had been lost nearly half a century ago. Lost, but never forgotten. With unusual tentativeness he reached out with his mind to follow the link. On the other end was a soft humming, not unlike the humming she'd do while cooking.

His Hermione was wearing the locket again.

Slowly, Lord Voldemort began to smile.


	30. At a Loss

(a/n): sorry for the delay, but such is the life when you're in your senior year at university...

Carpe Diem

Chapter 30

The proverbial clock was ticking as they waited for Severus to return.

Harry and Ron were playing wizard's chess. Ron winning, naturally. The two Malfoys were standing in the corner, Lucius looking mighty angry at Draco as he berated his son for leaving the safe house. Remus was sitting on the sofa reading, but he'd failed to turn a page within the last five minutes.

And Hermione occupied the chair by the unlit fireplace, her fingers tangled in the chain of her locket. Her wrist was still throbbing, the black marks just as angry as they'd been over an hour ago when she'd noticed them, but the ache wasn't necessarily painful. It was more of a reminder. How she could forget anything to do with Tom Riddle though, Hermione didn't know.

In fact, when they'd all come into the library to await Severus's return, all Hermione was capable of doing was remembering, one scene after another. Memories of her husband.

_Her boss was doing it again. He was staring at her while she went through the inventory reports. They only had two vampire fangs, four strands of unicorn hair, and half a pint of mermaid's tears left. She'd fill out an order form and send it to their supplier before she left for lunch with Tom._

_Hermione's eyes scanned down the list and she ignored the feeling of being watched. It wasn't that Theodore Baker was a perverted man, or if he was he hid it well. He never said anything inappropriate or anything of a sexual nature to her, but when she was distracted or when her attention was on the other side of the store she could feel his eyes roving over her. He was nearly three times her age and had wide blue eyes hidden under bushy gray eyebrows._

_She shivered. She loved her job at the potions apothecary, but there was something about the way her boss looked at her. He certainly admired her intelligence and her work ethic. He told her, in no uncertain terms, she was the best and most capable employee he'd ever had. At the time, her chest had swelled with pride. She'd been turned down nearly everywhere else for being a woman, but the day her boss promoted her was justification. Take that Ministry of Magic! She was a witch, a wife, and a supervisor! _

_Since that day, Mr. Baker began watching her. He watched her as she stocked the shelves, as she drank her tea, or as she did the inventory. Odds were against the looks being of a sinister nature, though they were still disconcerting. He looked at her like she stared at an interesting book, or like the way Ron looked at a book, rather. Like he was trying to decipher a great mystery and failing miserably. _

_Signing the order form, Hermione stood from her desk, Theodore Baker flinching as she looked his way. Whatever the cause of his staring, Hermione was glad when Tom arrived._

_He walked into the shop in a confident stride, his eyes scanning for her. Mr. Baker was quick to avert his gaze when Tom went to him._

"_Where is my wife?" he asked coldly._

_Mr. Baker's eyes flicked over to her, then to Tom's, and then to the floor again. Hermione frowned. Why was her boss so afraid of Tom? They'd only met a handful of times._

"_Here Thomas," Hermione smiled, ignoring the byplay between the two men. It was surely her imagination._

_Tom turned to her, his expression still indifferent but his eyes crinkling slightly in greeting. "Are you ready for lunch?"_

_She nodded. "Let me send this owl to our supplier. I'll meet you outside."_

_He gave a brisk nod, his eyes cutting to Mr. Baker once more before he left the shop. Interesting that, she thought._

_Tying the missive to Hoot, the store owl, Hermione sent the little bird on his way and grabbed her cloak. _

"_I'm off to lunch now, Mr. Baker. I've sent the order to Mr. Gibbons and set the remaining mermaid tears out for display. Is there anything else you need done before I leave?"_

_She always asked if he needed her to do anything before she left for lunch or break. He'd told her once that it wasn't necessary. Hermione never left anything half-done around the store. He trusted her to leave and be back within an hour._

_He shook his head. She swung her cloak on and turned to leave._

"_Hermione," he said abruptly, his voice cracking on the last syllable of her name._

_She twisted her head and pinned him with a confused frown. He was always careful to be excruciatingly polite to her and unnecessarily formal. He'd never called her by her first name before. It was always Mrs. Riddle. _

"_Yes, Mr. Baker?" she asked warily. _

"_It's not my place," he began, rising from his seat as his eyes shifted to the front door. "You've worked for me nearly a year now. I did not want to hire a woman, did not believe you would last a fortnight, but I've watched you work. You're smart. You've always been kind to our customers and your fellow employees, even when they looked down on you."_

_She smiled in confusion, her feet shifting nervously to the door as he closed in on her._

"_I've watched you blossom, Hermione," his blue eyes crinkled into a smile that didn't quite make her nervous as much as confused. "It's not my place, I know. I'm not your father, but if you're being mistreated at home, I'll help you." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'll help you leave him, Hermione. He won't control you anymore."_

"_W-what?" her voice quivered._

"_Your husband," Mr. Baker stated, his eyes once again flicking to the door Tom had exited a moment ago. His eyes wide, he nodded slowly._

"_I'm sure I don't know what you mean."_

_But she did know. It made sense now, how carefully he watched her. He thought Tom was abusing her. Was he looking for bruises as he stared at her? Maybe he stared at her so long because there was never a scratch on her. She didn't know whether to be amused or horrified. _

"_I love my husband, Mr. Baker," she whispered, her eyes softening as she looked out the window. She couldn't see Thomas, but she knew he was there, waiting for her. Her hand rose to her neck and her fingers lightly grazed her locket. "We are very happy together."_

_Despite her honesty, it was clear he did not believe her._

_She left without saying anything else. She did not have the time or patience to convince the well-meaning man, and Thomas would be suspicious if she kept him waiting._

_He was leaning against the brick wall to the left of the shop window, his black robes sharp and neatly pressed. He nodded stiffly in greeting and she slipped her arm through his, ignoring the searching eyes of Mr. Baker as he watched them walk away._

"_What took you so long?"_

_Hermione smiled, but was careful to keep her eyes averted. "He asked me about the inventory."_

_She could feel him looking down at the top of her head. "Tell the truth now."_

_She sniffed. "Can't keep anything from you, can I?"_

_He smirked and reached out to open the door to the Leaky Cauldron. They didn't speak until they sat at their table and ordered. _

"_Well?" he asked as their waitress walked away._

"_It's funny, really," Hermione said._

_He gave her a sharp look. "Why aren't you laughing then?"_

"_Mr. Baker stopped me before I left," she spilled out in a rush._

_Tom set his butterbeer down, his expression excruciatingly neutral. "And?"_

_She fiddled with her silverware. "He's a silly man, Thomas. He didn't know what he was talking about."_

"_Hermione," he said warningly. _

"_He was," she hesitated before settling on- "concerned." _

"_About?"_

_She could tell he was starting to get angry. His eyes were narrowed, his lips were a thin line, and he had a tendency to speak in short, clipped words when he was upset. _

"_You," she admitted. No point in skirting the issue, really, when she always caved in the end. _

"_I see," he murmured._

"_It was actually kind of touching. Misplaced, but touching," she said. Her voice was overly cheerful in an attempt to advert Tom's anger._

_Her attempt failed._

"_Meddling old fool," he muttered. "I'll see to him."_

_Her heart froze and fear jabbed at it. She hated it when he talked like that. Hated it even more when he followed through. "Tom, you mustn't," she whispered, conscious of the many people crowding the inn for the lunch hour._

"_Mustn't I? They have to learn, Hermione. They have to learn their place and they must know that you are mine. No one will take you from me."_

_Hermione bit her lip to keep from pointing out it was that attitude Mr. Baker was so concerned about. "He's an old man, Thomas. Don't hurt him. Please. For me."_

_She could tell he wanted nothing more than to deny her request, but she refused to give up so easily. Her gaze held steady with his, a silent plea in her eyes._

"_Very well," Tom said. Hermione let out the breath she'd been holding, but could not bring herself to relax completely._

_Now, if only she could convince him to not hurt anyone else in the Wizarding World – then she'd be in business._

"Check mate."

Hermione's eyes flickered to Harry who was frowning at the chessboard. "Round two?" he asked, not particularly interested in playing the game so much as looking for a distraction.

She needed a distraction too, Hermione decided. Too many memories were spinning in her head, waiting on the sidelines to be called into the game.

"Harry, Ron," she spoke softly, but they heard her clearly in the tension filled room.

Ron looked hopefully at her and Hermione felt a twinge of guilt for being so mean to him earlier. Even if he was a prat.

A small, timid smile curled her lips. "I'm feeling catty," she said.

Matching grins instantly blossomed on their faces. She realized suddenly that it had been a long time since she'd seen their carefree smiles and decided that the grins suited them a lot better than the frowns they'd been sporting lately. There certainly wasn't much to smile about these days, but she'd find a way to make them smile like that again. And frequently.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Remus was quick to chime in.

Hermione knew he hadn't been reading.

"Yes," Lucius said. "That would be an incredibly stupid thing to do."

Hermione smiled and found it so easy to forget suddenly. "Or an incredibly Gryffindor thing to do," she countered.

"Stupidity and Gryffindor are synonymous, my dear," his tone was sickly sweet. "And you weren't always a Gryffindor."

Her good spirit evaporated at the casual reminder. "Thanks Lu," she muttered sadly.

Lucius admirably fought off a wince. "You know what I mean, Hermione."

"No I don't," she snapped. Quite suddenly she was furious. Why wouldn't he let her forget? Didn't she deserve and hour or two of freedom, with no strings attached? Hadn't she been through enough to warrant that?

"Did you just call my father Lu?" Draco asked.

"Shut it, Malfoy, no one's talking to you," Ron said.

Again with the fighting. Was it ever going to end?

_I can set you free. Only I have the key to your chains, my dear. You need only but ask_, Tom whispered.

She shot out of the chair. She couldn't stay one more minute in that room, with them fighting again, and with Tom's tempting offers getting even more appealing.

"I'm going out," she said, her steps were fast and twitchy as she moved to the door. "Don't follow me."

She made it to the hall and apparated before they could stop her.

It was a very 'Harry' thing for her to do. Very impulsive. She knew better than to let her emotions control her actions, but it seemed like the years of fear and sadness had caught up with her and she could no longer control them. Instead, she had to run from them.

So she ran.

When she reappeared, she hadn't really known where she was. That was another stupid thing for her to have done. She'd apparated so quickly, not wanting to give them the chance to stop her, that she'd barely thought of the coordinates of her destination. She could have easily splinched herself or worse.

Still, she made it to the cemetery in one piece.

The resting place of her parents was a very secluded cemetery surrounded by trees. At this hour, no one was around, and in an another attempt to escape from her human emotions, Hermione fell to her hands and knees in the form of a mountain lion. The transition from human to cat was a blessing, for as soon as her paws hit the floor, the dull roar of emotions was pushed back as animal instinct took the front seat.

Her tail flicked lazily before she dashed towards the furtherest part of the cemetery where two headstones marked the final resting place of Hank and Helen Granger. It took her mere seconds to get there and with amazing control, Hermione the lion stopped, walked a tight circle before plopping down and staring at the tombstones.

She felt the sadness push up against her protective barrier which made her inner cat mewl and hiss unpleasantly. Forcefully she pushed it back. She'd turned into the beast to forget her human pains. All she wanted to do was forget, if only for a little while.

She sighed, her body relaxing as she fell to her side with her back brushing the tombstones as she rested her head lazily on a paw. What little sun there was felt heavenly on her back, the warmth stretching through her body as her shoulders relaxed and she sighed again, a purr forming on the exhale. As a cat, the world was amazingly simple. Tom's voice didn't reach her feline ears, and her human troubles seemed years away. It was tempting to remain there forever, finding solace within the cat.

In the past, and she forced herself to view her life with Thomas in the past-tense, she hadn't felt safe enough to give herself over to her inner cat. At the end of her seventh year, she held back the turn in transfigurations and stood in class with a fake look of concentration on her face. No one had turned that year, although Minerva's form did flicker. Hermione suspected Tom could have, if he really wanted to, but had probably held back the change for reasons similar to her own. Secrecy.

As she laid on the grass, lightly purring and basking in the rare sunlight, Hermione realized how much she'd missed being a lioness, missed the life of mere instinct and no responsibilities. As she dozed there, Hermione embraced the solitude and relished the closeness to her parents.

Before she'd been thrown into the time loop, the death of her parents had been fresh. She'd been so hurt and angry. But more than that, she'd been so lost. If Remus hadn't taken her in, she was sure to have lost her mind. Time had a way of healing wounds, though, even the ones people think will never fade. She'd had nearly three years to mourn her parents, and while the wound was healed, there'd always be a tender scar that ached from time to time like a Grandpa's rheumatism that acted up right before it was about to rain. She wasn't happy with the situation, but she could think back on her mother and father and feel something more than the gaping hole in her chest left by their absence.

A subtle rustling pierced her thoughts. Instincts took over, her ears twitching to the bushes to her right as she rolled from her side, turning her lazy nap into a crouch, legs tense in concentration as her unblinking gaze bored into the bushes.

The rustling started again and a low rumbling started in her chest in response.

Quick as lightening, a rodent darted from the leaves. Her eyes caught the flash of silver of the rat's front paw and not even half a second later she pounced, her limbs pushing her through the air and her jaw locking around the rat, not tight enough to kill him, but with a warning pressure that told him she could, very easily, if she wanted.

The rat turned, his image rippling, and then it was a wizard she held captive. The years had not been kind to Peter Pettigrew, who even in his human form looked more like a rat than any man had a right to. Her jaw was locked around his wrist and she tightened her hold in warning.

He twitched and whined in response.

"Please," he begged. "Please don't hurt me!"

He was quite pathetic, and her cat-self was getting tired of toying with him, unimpressed with his pleas. The urge to give in to her anger was strong. His skin was nothing against her claw and tooth. She'd rip through him like butter. Her growl was loud and inescapably clear. If he didn't stop moving, she'd kill him.

"Please!" His cry took on a higher pitch. "Please, my lady!"

Her growling ceased and disquiet settled in her chest. Without thinking, Hermione transformed, leaving her cat-self behind and she found herself crouching unsettling close to the traitor.

Pettigrew smiled. It was obvious he found Hermione the witch laying on top of him to be much more appealing than Hermione the mountain lion. Flinching in disgust, Hermione threw herself off of him and simultaneously went for her wand.

Her hand was steady and her voice firm as she hissed, "What did you just call me?"

Pettigrew's dirty grin died and his whole body twitched as if random intervals of electricity was being shot through him. It took Hermione a moment to figure out it was because he was scared. Of her.

"M-my lady," he said.

Which is exactly what she'd thought he said. "Why did you call me that?"

"I live to serve," he whined, his head bowed in obedience.

She inwardly scoffed. What a poor excuse of a wizard, and an even poorer excuse for a man.

"I'm taking you to the Ministry," she announced.

"Please," he begged. "You must listen."

"I most certainly do not," she bristled. "I don't give a fig why you're here, but you'll come with me peacefully if you don't want to get hurt. Get up and let's go. And no funny business now unless you want a stunner between the eyes."

"I bear a message from your husband."

She froze. "W-what did you just say?"

Her heart was beating painfully against her ribcage and her breathing turned shallow.

And the filthy wizard smiled knowing he was suddenly safe from the Ministry officials.

"My lord bid me to give you this token," he stated, digging into his pocket and tossing an envelop on the grass at her feet.

She looked down at the envelop and in that split second, Pettigrew disapparated.

But she couldn't bring herself to care. Her eyes were riveted on the sharp, precise writing that had scrawled her name, _Hermione Riddle_, across the front.

Don't touch it, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Harry whispered. It could be a portkey.

And outside of her cat form, Tom was also talking to her, his words dripping like poisoned honey in her ear. _Not a portkey. No, you'll come to me willingly in the end because you know where you belong_...

She snatched up the letter before she lost the courage, her body tensing in preparation for the portkey to activate and whisk her off to some castle or dungeon or whatever. But nothing happened. She sighed, disappointed and relieved, and slid her thumb under the tab, pulling out a parchment written in Tom's efficient hand.

_I forgive you your lies, Hermione, but do not try me. My patience has worn thin these fifty odd years and if you do not return soon then I will be forced to collect you. Do not displease me._

It was unsigned.

Dear Merlin. Her hand went limp and the letter drifted to the floor. Thoughts chased each other in her head, each one nipping the previous in the heels. _What does he want? Has he really waited all this time for me? Will he kill me? Does he... want me? _

Through the confusion though, a random thought surfaced.

Slowly, laughter bubbled in her chest. It wasn't the carefree sound of good humor, but a desperate laugh that was borderline hysterically.

_He sent me a threatening note... Just like Grindelwald_.

She laughed until the giggles turned into sobs that drowned her. At a loss in her sea of despair, her hand came up and fondled the locket, her life preserver even now knowing what it sealed inside.

What was she going to do?


	31. A Plan

(A/N): ...well, better late than never, right?

Carpe Diem

Chapter 31

_Pressed into the back of the closet, Hermione covered her lips to stifle her happiness. She knew the giggling was going to give her away, but she couldn't help herself. Never had she ever thought it could be like this. Not with anyone, but especially not with Tom._

"_I know you're here," he hissed. His tone was certain, almost dangerous. _

_Hermione shivered and pressed further into the closet. She could barely make out his form through a small sliver of space where the door should latch, but his back was to her and all she saw was his lean muscles, his ivory skin glowing in the candlelight. He looked positively sinful with his slacks riding low on his hips and his chest reflecting the dim flames from the candles she had lit. _

_Her breathing faltered and then resumed at a faster pace. She was sure he could hear her._

"_Hermione love," he called. He only called her that when he really stood to gain something and every time he crooned to her it was as if her body was being summoned. Her hand lifted towards the door of the closet, but she caught herself just in time. _

_As if he had known how close she'd been to caving, he growled warningly. She smiled and muffled another giggle. Tom was fun to tease._

_With a crash the door was flung open and his hands were on her waist, his skin like liquid fire against hers until he dumped her rather unceremoniously onto their bed._

"_How did you do it?"_

_He smirked down at her, his eyes perusing her flushed skin, lingering slightly over the rise and fall of her chest. "Do what, exactly?"_

"_Find me. How did you find me?"_

_The bed dipped and Hermione was very suddenly aware of herself as Tom hovered above her. His shirt was missing – or not really missing since she was wearing it, her new favorite sleep shirt, and her fingers twitched towards the planes of his chest. The skin there was soft, she knew, and very sensitive._

_His expression was a cross of humoring and humorous. He used one hand to prop his head up by hers and the other played with her hair. He was silent a while, his eyes intent as he twirled the strands around his index finger, winding and unwinding. When he grew bored, the hand trailed to her cheek and down her neck, caressing the golden chain of her locket._

_He leaned down, his lips to her ear and whispered, "Hermione. There is no where you can go, no place in this world or the next, that I would not go to find you. You belong with me."_

_As he'd talked he'd been tracing his lips from her ear to her jaw and he sealed his vow with a burning kiss. He kissed her until she thought she could die. And yet she lived._

_Or was brought to life._

"_You belong with me..."_

_He shuffled above her. Clothes that were recently donned were discarded again and she sighed contently as his skin brushed hers._

"_I love you," she murmured against his lips. _

_He gasped softly, his eyes meeting hers with searing intensity. He did not reply to her, at least, not with any words._

"Hermione!"

The witch jumped and looked to Lucius who must have been calling her for sometime if the annoyance in his tone was any indication.

"Yes?"

He eyed her contemplatively. "Are you with us?"

She huffed slightly. "Of course, Lucius. I'm listening."

It was a lie and he knew it. His eyes searched hers a moment longer before he moved back to the conversation. Things had been that way since Severus's call and failure to return. He'd been missing for three weeks now with no owl or word as to why. Not that Ron or Harry cared, really. And Lucius and Remus were secure in their belief he was simply biding his time with the Dark Lord who was likely using him to restock their potions supplies.

But Hermione knew better. Sure, Tom likely had Severus making potions for him but it was most certainly just a ruse to keep him in sight. The timing was too suspect – the locket, the call, and then Peter and the letter. Not that she'd told anyone about the last. The loud, sensible part of her knew keeping that a secret was going to come back to haunt her, but the insecure and grieving part allowed her to live in denial. They all knew Voldemort wanted her for some reason or another – there was no use getting them up and arms about a silly note, she told herself.

She snorted softly. It was getting harder to buy her own logic anymore.

"Hermione!"

"Yes!" she snapped, forcing her thoughts back. "Yes, I'm listening – go on."

Lucius glared at her, but ignored her obvious annoyance and continued speaking. "We've narrowed down the list of suspected Horcruxes. The Dark Lord is certainly evil, but he is also vain and oddly sentimental. He would have chosen objects to appeal to his vanity."

"Objects of the founders," Harry agreed. "There was Slytherin's ring and locket. I doubt he'd waste his time with something from Gryffindor – so that leaves Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw."

"There's the Hufflepuff Cup," Remus agreed. "It was last seen at Borgin and Burkes in the late forties early fifties."

"And Ravenclaw's wand," Draco contributed. "Although that disappeared a while back."

"Don't forget her diadem," Remus said. "Something tells me a crown would speak to the Dark Lord's vanity more than the wand."

Hermione, whose mind was fading out of the conversation again, abruptly sat up. "What did you just say?" she asked sharply.

Remus looked at her. He didn't even try to hide the concern behind his gaze as he spoke. "Ravenclaw's diadem... it sounds more plausible than her wand."

"No," she shook her head. "Before that – Hufflepuff's cup. Where was it last known to be?"

"The then owner brought it in to Borgin and Burkes – around the forties or fifties."

Her mind started reeling, calculating dates and scrambling for a memory just out of grasp. "Thomas was working there during that time frame," she whispered.

They were all looking at her, but she was barely conscious of the weight of their gazes. "He started working there almost immediately after we graduated... as an acquirer, I think. I don't remember seeing the cup at our home, but he certainly would have had the opportunity to take it. The dates match up."

"So the cup for sure," Harry said. When he spoke everyone looked to him and Hermione was grateful to be free of their heavy stares. They always looked at her funny when she talked about her life with Thomas. "We already destroyed the diary and the ring. Dumbledore seemed to think Nagini was one, but it doesn't make sense. Sure, she's his familiar, but he wouldn't necessarily place much sentiment in that. She's just useful to him."

Hermione coughed, and again, everyone's eyes settled on her. "That's not necessarily true," she said softly, refusing to meet their gazes. "She was a gift, you see. I-I gave her to him for Christmas, our first Christmas."

"Well, it would appear the Dark Lord is more sentimental than we originally thought," Lucius said succinctly. "So we've destroyed the ring and diary. We have the locket. Now we have Nagini, Hufflepuff's cup, and something from Ravenclaw, most likely the diadem. Then just him – the Dark Lord."

"That's that then," Draco chirped. His sarcasm was obvious as he continued, "We know the what, now we just need the where – piece of cake."

"He gave me the diary," Lucius ignored his son and looked to Remus. "It's likely he gave other members something as well. Hell, he gave Hermione the locket."

Again, they all looked to her and she looked away. Her hand rose and touched the chain around her neck.

"Right Lucius," Remus agreed. "So we must ask ourselves, who else does the Dark Lord trust enough to hold a horcrux."

"Bellatrix," Harry said. There was a quiet tone of certainty behind the name. "She's almost religious in her devotion to him. Maybe she has one in her vault... no one can break into Gringotts, after all."

"Indeed," Lucius murmured. It was a silent acknowledgment as to where he'd stored the diary himself.

"Right," Ron said brightly. "So let's break in to Gringotts, have a kip through Lestrange's vault, and why not tame the _dragons_ down there for fun while we're at it!"

"We don't hear you coming up with anything, Weasleby. Severus has been gone for too long – we can only assume the Dark Lord's cottoning on to our plans. We can't sit around at wait for him any longer," Draco sneered.

Ron shot to his feet, but Harry was quick to grab him by the arm and pull him down. "As much as I hate to admit it," he said loudly over Ron's protests, "the ferret's right. Every day we sit and wait Voldemort grows more powerful. We can't wait any longer. We have to _do something_."

"Half the ministry is in his pocket," Remus sighed. "It's only a matter of time before he sets his sights on Hogwarts. His supporters are everywhere. The ministry will fall soon."

"And then its open season on all mudbloods and blood traitors. Open season on us all," Draco said. The usual sneer was missing when he spoke and he almost sounded sad or worried.

"Right," Hermione said, breaking the silence. "So let's talk about breaking in to Gringotts then. Any ideas?"

"Polyjuice?" Harry offered.

Remus made a noncommittal sound. "Too hard to say if that'll work. We don't have her hair, or vault key, and even so, she's a committed Death Eater and we can't just walk through Diagon Alley in broad daylight as one of Voldemort's first circle supporters."

"What about invisibility cloaks?"

"That idea has some merit, but it's unlikely the vault in question will be accessible even if no one could see us," Lucius said.

Silence lapse and Hermione's mind traveled, yet again, to another memory.

"_Hermione, love – where are you?"_

"_Behind you," she whispered in his ear, her lips touch his skin._

_Tom turned and smirked down at her. "You're getting better at sneaking up to me."_

_She smiled. "You better be careful now, Thomas."_

"_I'm not afraid of you, pet," he said. He didn't smile, he rarely did, but there was a crinkling in his eyes that suggested he was laughing with her._

"_We'll see about that later," she promised, her smile turning coy._

"_Later," he hissed, his hands going to her hips and squeezing promisingly. She knew he didn't want to stop now – his eyes told her as much, but they were in public and had business to attend to._

_She stepped back, breaking his hold. "Shall we, then?"_

_Tom's smirk deepened. "Yes, business first." He offered his arm and she took it as they walked up the marble steps into Gringotts._

_A goblin was quick to greet them, eyeing Tom warily._

"_We wish to adjust our accounts," Tom snapped. It was clear he did not enjoy dealing with the goblins. "We married recently – we want our vaults to be joined into one. Also, I am cosigned on several other accounts – for security purposes my wife must have access to them as well. Should I cosign on future vaults, she too must access those. Make it so, goblin, I have no wish to come back every time my accounts change."_

_Hermione frowned. She knew they'd be joining their own accounts, but the fact that he was listed on others was news to her._

"_Thomas," she whispered as the goblin left to get the necessary paperwork. "What other accounts are you talking about?"_

_His smile was small and dismissive. "Nothing for you to concern yourself over. Just think of them as an extension of our insurance policy." The tips of his fingers caressed the chain of her locket, kissing the skin on her neck._

"_Thomas," there was a warning when she spoke this time. She hated it when he talked down to her like that._

_His eyes glinted a silent warning for her not to argue. "Enough. It has been decided. You are my wife, everything I can access, so can you. We will not be without means, Hermione. Not ever again."_

_Sympathy dawned as she realized he was remembering their days at the orphanage, little or no money to their names._

_She sighed. It was pointless arguing with him over anything. He always won in the end._

"Well," Hermione said thoughtfully as she banished the memory back to the recesses of her mind. "What if we had someone who had legitimate access to the vault approach the goblins and then the rest of us could follow under the cloaks."

"And who exactly are we going to get to do that, Hermione?" Ron asked.

He was simultaneously ignored by all of them.

"The Dark Lord requires access to all of his follower's vaults," Lucius looked at her calculatingly.

Hermione nodded. She hesitated for a brief second, but then continued before she lost her nerve. "And as the Dark Lord's wife, I have access to everything he does. Tom made it so."

She had said it in a deliberately mild inflection, but the statement still caused an uproar.

"But you aren't with him-" Ron sputtered.

"Too dangerous for you," Harry said.

Draco added, "Aren't marriages annulled when you haven't slept with you husband in over fifty years?"

"Bloody hell, Malfoy – take it back!" Ron shouted.

Harry, who had been so good at holding his temper lately, also snapped. "You foul git – don't talk that way about Hermione."

Lucius was speaking contemplatively, almost to himself. "It is possible..."

Remus nodded. "If the marriage was never legally resolved, then she still would have access."

"There's still a legal record of it," Lucius provided. "I've looked into it. He never contested the marriage after she left – she's still his wife in magic law."

_My Hermione_, Tom's voice broke through the flurry of all their voices. _So practical, so logical. My clever little witch_.

_Be quiet you_, she hissed. _Leave me alone. I'm not listening to you any more_.

_I'll never go away_, he taunted. _I'll never leave you_.

_We're going to destroy your horcruxes – you've become everything I've always feared, Thomas. What I hoped to prevent_. There was a ring of betrayal behind the words.

_Hush now, love. You can act surprised if it makes you feel better, but we both know you always knew it was meant to be this way. You knew what was to be – and still, you chose me_. Satisfaction was dripping off every syllable.

_Oh god_, she thought tearfully. _This is it. I'm going crazy. Ron was right, I'm absolutely mental – arguing with a figment of my imagination_.

Tom chuckled. _I'm quite real, pet. Soon, so soon you will see for yourself. You've been very rude to keep me waiting. Sssooon_. There was a not so subtle threat there – a promise of reckoning. Tom could be very patient, but with her, patience more often than not flew out the window.

"This is the best coarse, as much as I am loathe to say."

Everyone settled down and looked at Lucius.

"If we thought of it, you can be sure Voldemort has too. It will be heavily safe guarded – if it's even there," Harry stated.

"It is there," Hermione said confidently. "It's the only logical place to keep it."

"We can expect curses to be all over that family vault – the darkest kind. It's possible they'll know the instant the vault is opened, and who ordered it so."

The implication was clear. Their window for retrieving any horcrux hidden there would be small. They'd have to act fast and play it smart. Voldemort will know of Hermione's entrance to the vault and of the reason behind it.

And what remained unspoken between them all – if Voldemort had indeed considered them doing this, just what was he going to make of this opportunity. They all knew that her being out in the open, out somewhere he could reach her, would be too much of a temptation for him to ignore. More temptation than Harry Potter, wandless and skipping through Knockturn Alley. There would be repercussions for this plan and severe consequences. Could they plan ahead and be quick enough to avoid them?

Likely not, Hermione knew. Tom had a knack for being terribly thorough in his schemes. But then again, what choice did they have? The political tides were changing and Voldemort was seamlessly integrating himself and his power over the ministry. Remus and Lucius were right – it would fall soon, and shortly after it would be Hogwarts.

There was no time to wait. Indeed, Hermione thought, they had already waited too long.

"It's decided," she announced coolly. "Tonight we plan. Tomorrow we act."

Silence followed her proclamation.

_Tomorrow, I will have you_... Tom proclaimed into the pensive air.

_That's what you think, _she thought._ Our time has passed._

She didn't entirely believe that herself, but she had to remain strong and think positively. They had to succeed – the price was too high should they fail.


	32. Dangerous Emotions

(A/N): I know you all want to get reading, but a quick word... Many of you have been PM'ing me and reviewing even though I haven't updated in an obscenely long time, and I love reading all of your messages even though I haven't been able to respond to everyone. Thank you all for your patience with this story. I know many of you have been dying for an update, but I'm sure you also realize that fanfiction is not the focus of my life and it is a hobby I will strive to make time for because I love it. But, real life happens, and when it comes to family (as it has these past couple years) there's no hesitation for me to put this on hold – family always comes first.

Now yes, I am back, but I can't promise updates every other day like I was once able to do. All I can promise is that we are about 5 (give or take) chapters away from the end and I will try my hardest to update weekly. This is not a guarantee, but I'm hoping to finish this by mid-April at the latest.

Some of you may need to re-read the last few chapters to get back in the swing of things... but I now present to you... chapter 32 (unedited, sadly, but I figured you've waited long enough)!

_Carpe Diem_

_Chapter 32_

Once they determined the location of one horcrux, the remaining seemed to fall in line.

Nagini was the most obvious, seeing as she slithered on the heels of the Dark Lord and was never out of his sight, and it was Harry who determined the horcrux from Ravenclaw would likely be at Hogwarts.

"He's been hiding them in significant places," he'd reasoned. "The cave, the vaults of trusted followers, you, himself... Hogwarts was the only home he knew growing up." It went unsaid that Harry felt much the same about the beloved castle.

But Hermione couldn't fault his logic. Tom was arrogant and surprisingly sentimental. It would be just like him to hide a horcrux under the nose of Albus Dumbledore himself. She could picture him having a good laugh at that.

The trouble was no longer finding them, but acquiring and destroying them. Gringotts was a very obvious challenge, although Hermione's revelation of having access to Death Eater's vaults somewhat solved that and they were still in the process of making the plans to retrieve that one. Breaking into the goblin wizarding bank wasn't without risk – there was still the dragons to contend with, after all. But the real concern would be Hogwarts. They weren't sure where in the castle the horcrux was and the school had started a steady descend into Death Eater hands. Minerva had been reporting to them on the sly how the subtle infiltration had begun – a teacher mysteriously sick and known Death Eaters being sent as replacements. The same thing was happening at the Ministry.

Just like a well laid out set of dominos, Tom's plan was coming to fruition and time was quickly running out.

_We have all the time in the world_, Tom whispered in the back of her mind. _And you better believe I will be making up the time lost to us_...

Hermione shook her head and rubbed her wrist. The pain was getting worse.

"Drink this," a goblet was shoved in her face, breaking Tom's sibilant promises. She looked up to see Malfoy, the junior, holding out what smelled like a pain reliever potion.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione muttered a quick, "I'm fine," before turning back to her book. She had sequestered herself in the library, killing time before they were to head to Gringotts for what Ron was calling the 'Under the Dragon Snout Heist.' Not very clever, in her opinion.

"Shut your ruddy mouth and drink it," he shoved it in her face again.

She sighed. "It's just a headache, Malfoy. Too much tension in this house."

He snorted. "It's for your wrist, you twit, now drink up."

Her eyes snapped to him again and she frowned. Snorting again, he said, "Please, you may have been in Slytherin for a few months, but you still have the subtly of a Gryffindor. If you're worried I poisoned it then my dad made it."

"Did he?" she quirked an eyebrow.

Malfoy grinned. "Sure, whatever makes you drink it."

"I'm fine," she said again.

"Granger," he huffed, "Nightscapes are nasty buggers. Don't even act like your wrist isn't hurting something fierce. Besides, no pressure and all, but this whole Gringotts heist sort of depends on you being focused, which you clearly can't be with the Dark Lord whispering sweet nothings in your ear – although maybe you do like his randy thoughts. It's always the quiet ones you know... and it's literally been like, decades for him-"

She grabbed the potion and downed it, shuddering at the taste. With a glare, she threw the goblet at his head, but he just caught it with a smirk. The potion was already working, her wrist starting to tingle with numbness and Tom's voice fading into the background of her thoughts. And loathe as she was to admit it to the ferret, she did feel better.

"How'd you know? About the Nightscape, that is?" She'd only read about them, of course, but she'd suspected that's what Tom had cast on her to cause that nightmare. It was pretty dark magic indeed that allowed someone to break into a person's dream and control it. It opened a bridge between two minds, one that lingered even after waking.

"Lucky guess," he said dryly.

Her mind felt a bit bruised, and she doubted Tom was gone for good, but it was nice being the only person in her head again.

"You alright there, Granger?" Draco asked.

"It's not Granger anymore," she said, more reflex than anything else.

"Riddle then, if you really want."

"Nevermind," she muttered. "I'm fine, better, thanks."

"No worries. Have to fight evil with a clear head, I always say. And a full stomach. Let's go eat."

She sighed again, something that was becoming a terrible habit. "What is with you, Draco?"

He looked mildly surprised at the use of his first name and asked, "What do you mean?"

"I get that you've been a right git in school mainly for cover. I mean, you've practically been groomed to be a spy at birth, thanks to me by the way, so why are you being so chummy? Isn't there some anger there for me – like I stole your life or something?"

For the first time, she saw his smirk fall away and he adopted a thoughtful expression. "I'm going to tell you something, Grang- Hermione, and you better not tell anyone I was honest with you. My great-grandfather Abraxas was a stupid prick, nothing more than school boy who backed a mad man and nearly sentenced his entire line to licking the boots of a conceited half-blood. And you better believe he figured it out, too, thanks to you. Did you know that you're a bit of a legend to us Malfoys? Never knew about the time traveling gig until recently, but Abraxas made sure that you were remembered, not necessarily fondly, in our family. Kind of a cautionary tale, if you will. And as much as playing the spy stinks, it's infinitely better than being a near mindless slave to some hypocrite's ego. Long story short, my life could've been much worse had it not been for that vow you made him take," he seemed to hesitate a bit before he admitted, "maybe I feel like I kind of owe you?"

It was a question instead of a statement, but got his message across most effectively. Things were always a bit awkward around Draco – especially when he watched her talking with his dad like they were the best of friends – and even though when she'd learned the truth about Lucius she'd consequently learned about Draco and Narcissa, it was still hard to reconcile the smarmy git who been the first person to call her a mudblood with the Draco before her.

Still, their dodgy history aside, there was no doubt that Draco Malfoy was a decent enough bloke. Certainly he had to be brave, what with being a spy against the most dark wizard of their time, and he had sense of humor, though it was oft times at someone else's expense. She supposed she should just treat him like she handled Lucius and Severus now and skip the weeks of awkward conversation and tiptoeing. They didn't really have time to go through the motions.

"Listen Draco," she said. "You don't owe me anything. It was actually pretty sneaky of me to get Abraxas to make that vow and have it include his heirs – the only reason I did it was knowing your father was a spy and I had, in a sense, already done it. And it was pretty selfish of me really. It wasn't necessarily that I wanted to gain spies for our cause so much as make sure Lucius would be my friend in the future. That doesn't make it right, but I don't regret it."

Draco looked thoughtful. "He cares about you, you know? Like a daughter."

Hermione smiled. "Between you and me, Severus and Lucius bicker like an old married couple and sometimes it feels like I have two fathers, if you catch my drift." Draco snorted and Hermione continued, "But that feeling is mutual. I care about him too. For a while, it felt like he and Severus were the only people to understand me. They're like brothers, uncles, and fathers all rolled into one."

Draco grinned and the expression made him look worlds warmer than he'd ever had. In fact, Hermione couldn't ever recall seeing him smile so genuinely before. Then he ruined it by speaking, "Want to give my dad a heart attack and go snog in front of him?"

"Bloody Merlin," she choked on air, absolutely horrified. "Don't even joke like that, Malfoy!"

He laughed. "You're right. He probably wouldn't have a heart attack, he'd be tickled pink if anything. Let's hold hands at dinner."

She couldn't tell if he was joking. "Seriously, just stop that nonsense, you ferret. The walls have ears and things are dangerous enough as it is..." Dear lord, if it ever got back to Thomas that he was talking like this.

Idly, she ran her thumb along the back of her wedding ring and lost herself in a memory.

_She was browsing through the bookstore at Diagon Alley, her fingers lightly tracing the spines of books as she read their titles. Tom was... somewhere. Honestly, she was used to his disappearing acts when they were out and about, but he always seemed to appear just as she was ready to leave._

"_Excuse me," a voice said._

_Hermione turned and found a wizard standing uncomfortably close behind her. He was smiling, but it looked a little skeevy, like he was picturing what her knickers looked like. _

_Quickly, she took a step back and gave him a small polite, disinterested smile. "Yes?"_

"_Would you like to see my wand?" he grinned._

"_I beg your pardon?" she gasped, taking another step back. If he thought he was being quirky and charming, he was about to get a slap to the face as a wake up call._

_His eyes tightened and the smile looked even more forced. Hermione thought he was probably disappointed by her reaction, or lack thereof. "Maybe we can have dinner. And then, I can show you my wand – it's nine inches, rigid wood. It'd love to meet you..."_

"_Sweet Merlin, is that truly how you ask women out? Wait – don't answer because I don't really care. I'm married and if you don't leave right now, I'll introduce you to my stunning charm. It'd really love to meet you right now," she drawled out the last bit._

"_Happily?"_

_She huffed. "What?"_

"_Are you happily married? Because I don't mind a toss with a married witch. I won't tell if you won't," he gave another oily grin._

_Horror colored her face and she couldn't imagine why this wizard was so persistent. As she reached for her wand to show him what she thought of his proposition, she heard, "She's quite happily married, and you'd do well to back away from her. Now."_

_Dear Merlin save this poor idiot. Thomas was back._

_The man frowned and took a step back. Tom used the movement to wedge himself between Hermione and the pervert. There was a long moment where Tom just stared impassively at the man, who slowly backed away, the grin melting off his face as his eyes went wide and his color drained. Hermione knew she should be concerned about the anger radiating off of Tom in strong, heated waves even as his expression remained frozen ice, but she was still a bit shocked at the man's gall. Really, who just walked up to a random woman and propositioned her like that?_

_The man scurried away, back to whatever hole he climbed out of, Hermione assumed, but Tom remained rigid in front of her._

"_Thomas?" she brought her hand to his shoulder, sliding it down his arm soothingly until she clasped his hand. His fingers entwined with hers and gripped her tightly. The fury remained even as he finally broke his glare from where the man had stood and looked down at her._

"_Did he touch you?" the words were clipped, barely controlled._

_She was quick to reassure him. "No. I wouldn't have let him. He was just a little persistent. I was about to hex him..."_

_A small glint of humor lit in his eyes at that. "What hex would you have used?"_

_Hermione suppressed a grin. "Probably a shrinking charm. Between the legs. Although I'm not sure he would have noticed."_

_He sniffed, conceding that. Finally, his grip relaxed on her and he looked down, hinting a smile at her. "Find anything you like?"_

_Hermione beamed, happy that he seemed ready to forget the prat and move on with their day. She rattled on about the books she'd been foraging through and eventually he helped her narrow down her purchase to only three. He led her out of the store, carrying her bag even though Hermione insisted she could do it. He shot a glance back to where the wizard was hiding, waiting to make his escape unnoticed by Tom._

_The next day, the man was found dead in his home, his face frozen in horror..._

Hermione shook the memory off. She remembered opening the prophet the next morning and seeing the article about the suspect death, the man's picture smiling at her, but she wisely pushed it out of her head and played ignorant to Tom who studied her as she read. She told herself she'd have to be better at sending them away next time, if there was a next time. The death, she felt, was on her for not getting rid of him sooner. She'd known only theoretically until that moment how much power she held over Tom. Certainly, he always had the upper hand, but she held sway over his tight emotions. Only she could make him lose control and go to such extremes.

"Hermione?" Draco broke her thoughts, frowning at her.

"Just," she cleared her throat and shot him a very telling look, "Just trust me. Don't joke around about that. He'll find out – he _always_ finds out."

He stared at her before slowly nodding. "Fair enough," he said. "But you should still eat. I think they want to leave in a few hours."

Obediently, Hermione followed him into the kitchen where the others were talking quietly over food. Lucius rose an eyebrow when he saw Draco wordlessly hand Hermione a plate, and she rolled her eyes at him. Draco was right. Lucius would probably be thrilled if she and Draco got together. Ron, thankfully, was quite distracted, but Harry saw the gesture and shot Draco a small approving nod. Harry was about as decent a bloke as they come and while he'd never forget how annoying the ferret was, it wasn't in him to hold grudges.

"Which of us are going with her?" Draco asked, taking a seat.

And of course that question set everyone off again. Thank Merlin for that potion Malfoy gave her, because Hermione could only imagine the headache the whole lot of them would cause.

Harry and Ron were adamant about going, while Lucius insisted Harry remain here. Remus thought only the adults should go, which had Draco actually agreeing with Ron and Harry. Everyone was talking over each other until Hermione snapped, "Enough already!"

They turned to her and she took a deep breath before continuing, "I think given the circumstances, Remus, you can concede we're all adults here. Trying to shelter us is what got us into nearly all of our misadventures, so let's think about this a little more rationally. Harry needs to go," she stated and gave Remus a sharp look when he went to interject. "Think about it. I might be able to give a good guess on whether or not what we find is a horcrux, but with Harry's link to _him_, we'll know for sure. We can find it faster with him."

Harry gave her a thankful glance when no one could say anything against that.

"Lucius, Draco," she steeled herself for what she was about to say next. "It would be too dangerous for either of you to go."

Immediately, both men began protesting before she cut them off again. "I'm not saying one of you shouldn't come. Let's face it, you both have the most hands on, practical experience with dark objects – no offense Remus – however, the odds of us running into some Death Eaters are pretty good and you both have high prices on your heads. The chances of both of you making it out aren't good. Only of you should come... and I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think it should be Draco."

Harry groaned, knowing full well that Hermione was likely going to get her way.

Lucius was clearly not happy, but curious as to her reasoning. "And why's that?"

She sighed. "We only have one invisibility cloak, and he's shorter. It's either bring you and Remus, or bring Ron, Harry and Draco. And we've already established Harry needs to come."

Resignation dawned on the older men's faces. "Severus has the other cloak, doesn't he?"

Hermione nodded. "You know as well as I do that he always kept it on him." He, out of all of them, had the most need for it. "So, it'll be me and the boys. You can either keep arguing with me only to agree later, or you can help us prepare as much as we can. What's it gonna be?"

Ron grinned. "You're brilliant, Hermione."

She shot him a withering look. "I'm not making excuses for you all to come, Ronald. This is the most practical way. It's either three capable wands at my back, one of them Harry's who is most likely to find the horcrux and who is the best at defense, or two far more experienced wands – but more time in LeStrange's vault, more time to get caught. Based on our track record we can pretty much guarantee a nasty run in, so I'm going for the in-and-out approach."

"She's kind of right, Ron," Harry agreed. "Nothing ever goes how we plan it and we end up just winging it."

"Gryffindors," Lucius sneered.

Hermione ignored him and fixed Draco, Ron and Harry with a stern look. "And this plan all hinges on you three acting like the adults you proclaim to be. I can't be worried about you three getting into some petty argument while trying to break into Gringotts, for Merlin's sake." She turned to Ron and Harry and said, "Yes, Draco is a big prat. He's rude and snarky and he's said plenty of mean things to all of us that makes you want to hex him to pieces."

"You can stop helping," Draco said dryly.

Again, she ignored him. "But, that all means absolutely nothing right now. You both know what he's sacrificed for this war, that he's been fighting in it since birth. He is on our side so his previous attitude means nothing to us now. Leave the past where it belongs," she smiled wryly, thinking she ought to practice her own advice. "You don't have to be friends, but you do have to work with each other if we are going to do this.

And you," she turned to Draco once satisfied that Harry and Ron got her message. "What we do here in downtime doesn't matter, but when we are out of this house, you need to leave your snide comments behind. No instigating. Yes, you're a good guy, we all get it now, but that's not an excuse to act like a git, especially in the middle of a mission. We have to stand united or else Thomas will exploit the weakness. You all," she shook her head with a cynical laugh, "You all have no idea. You think you do, but you truly don't. You have no idea what he's capable of.

Death, murder, torture – yes, but that's _nothing_ to what he's like with me. I'm not being conceited when I say I am easily his biggest weakness. I always have been and it's probably why he was so insistent about keeping me close to him. He is calm, collected, and patient when he stands to gain something, but the minute you throw me in the equation he lets his emotions rule. He killed a man for looking down my robes once. He killed a _student_ when he was concerned and angry that Grindelwald had me captive... and he got away with these things because he's smart. While you'd think his emotional responses would give us the upper hand, they don't. It makes him even more dangerous, more unpredictable."

She took a breath, shaking her head. Her wrist throbbed even though the potion was supposed to last for another hour at least. It seemed like proof to her that Thomas was even more determined than she suspected.

Rubbing her temples, she asked, "Do you all understand?"

Surprisingly, it was Ron who spoke first. "Yes, Hermione," he sounded uncharacteristically subdued. "I'll never like the ferret, but you're right. When it comes to Order business that doesn't matter."

Harry nodded. "We can work together. We'll watch his back if he watches ours."

They looked to Draco. She could see him fighting back some snide retort that would've only proved her point, and he managed to say, "I can set aside my emotions. We are on the same side. I will do everything in my power to help them and protect you."

There was a heavy silence in the room. Not one of them willing to speak lest they break the tentative truce Hermione had organized. She was still concerned over her decision on who to bring with her, but she had to have faith that they could do as they said and realize that their childish arguments were nothing but a drop of water in the ocean.

More important things were at stake tonight than their pride.


	33. Gringotts

(A/N): When it rains...

_Carpe Diem_

_Chapter 33_

Diagon Alley was unnaturally quiet for the hour. It was only just after dark and yet stores were already closed and the few that remained open were almost completely empty.

Still, Hermione took no chances. With Tom planting his Death Eaters at Hogwarts and the Ministry, she knew she was likely a person of interest to them, someone they were to report her whereabouts upon sighting. So she used a few glamour charms. Her hair was short and black. A beauty mark was added to the top of her left cheek and she wore a pair of glasses. Small things, really, but Hermione had learned that less was often more. Anyone looking for a long, brown haired witch would dismiss her upon first glance, not bothering to take a second. Perhaps if she and Albus had adopted this philosophy when she'd first arrived in the past they wouldn't be in this situation.

_But then we also wouldn't have a direct line to the way Tom thinks_, she thought.

Pushing that aside for later perusal, she continued walking down the uneven cobblestones towards the goblin bank. She made sure to keep her head down, just in case, and took unhurried steps, avoiding potholes and other small landmines that could potentially trip up the three boys trailing behind her in the invisibility cloak.

Good lord help her, but it had been a small humor to see them shuffling under that cloak, squeezing in as close as possible until all three were covered. She remembered fondly the times she, Harry and Ron had run around under that cloak as first years. Needless to say, three seventh year boys was a far tighter fit.

Still, they'd managed it, Hermione applying a small sticking charm just in case. She still wasn't quite sure how they'd fit on the cart to the vault, but at least the charm would prevent the cloak from flying off them and the small _silencio_ she'd also applied would muffle any grumblings should someone have to sit on another's lap.

She suppressed a small grin at that, knowing that now was definitely not the time, but also knowing she'd have to find humor where she could since there wasn't a lot going around these days.

When she reached the steps to Gringotts, she gave her surroundings one last, casual sweep and not seeing anything overtly out of place, she took them and entered the bank.

Gringotts was known for keeping all hours, unlike muggle banks. The goblins were only too happy to take and sort money, and there was definitely enough of them that it was an easy thing for them to work all day and night. They seemed to actually prefer it that way.

Keeping her head down, her black hair obscuring her face, Hermione approached the nearest free goblin. Heart pounding, Hermione nervously wiped the sweat of her palms on her robes before clearing her throat.

"Goblin," her voice was far stronger than she felt at the moment. After discussing it with Lucius, they'd decided she should maintain the popular pureblood attitude of borderline intolerance for goblins. She'd argued against it, but eventually accepted that someone accessing the LeStrange vault and being far more polite than that bloodline had ever been to the creatures would be imminently more suspicious.

The goblin raised his crooked nose from his paperwork and his beady eyes fixed on her. "Madam?"

Hermione steeled herself. "I wish to access a vault 247 immediately." _Thank you, Lucius_, she thought. Sure, they could've taken her there if she'd just given the vault's family name, but knowing the vault number was even better. Goblins were a mistrusting sort. Rightfully so, apparently.

The goblin gave gave no outward sign of shock as he confirmed, "The LeStrange vault?"

Of course he knew the number. As far as she could tell, every goblin knew every account in the bank.

"That is what I said, is it not?" she asked, her contempt thinly veiled.

The goblin stood straighter. For a moment, his eyes fixed on the area right behind her where she imagined the boys were standing with wands in hand. His eyes flicked back to her and he gave her an unsettling grin. "And do you have your key?"

"No," she drawled. Presenting her wand she continued, "I am cosigned on the vault, but don't have a key. Hurry up and verify by wand. I don't have all evening."

"And your name?"

He was right to ask, but it didn't stop Hermione's heart from skipping. "Hermione Riddle," she ground out. Saying the name caused a deep pain within her and for a moment, tears welled up though she wouldn't let them fall.

Her wounded wrist flared to life and she thought she heard the stirrings of Tom's whisper. Not good, she decided.

The goblin again managed no outwardly show of emotion, but Hermione was certain she saw a hint of surprise at the name. He seemed to hesitate briefly before saying, "I will need a sample..." His tone was far more cautious than it had been before.

Quickly, she brought the tip of her wand to her finger and drew a drop of blood before handing it to the goblin. "Be quick," her abruptness was not faked that time. Her wrist was starting to throb faster and she just knew their time was already running out.

_Sssooon_...

The goblin hopped off his stool and conferred with another. Her wand was then tested and verified as her own, and the drop of blood was tested and proven true as well. When the goblin came back, he was far more obliging than before.

He attempted another smile when their eyes met, but then he quickly dropped his to the floor. Of course he was afraid of her. The goblins had long memories and while the wizarding world may have forgotten the name Riddle, she was positive the goblins haven't.

"Your wand," he handed it back. He glanced again to the area behind her before bidding her to follow him to the carts.

She settled herself as small as possible in order to give the boys more room. In her mind's eye she imagined Ron sitting in Draco's lap with Harry kind of draped over them. She smiled again and felt a small jab to her back in response. It had to have been from Draco. Like father, like son.

The ride to the vault was just as unsettling as it always was. She had a slight fear of heights that forced her eyes closed most of the way and when they finally reached their stop, she had to tell the goblin to wait as she found her legs again. Merlin, she could practically hear Ron laughing. Harry wouldn't laugh, but he wouldn't fight the grin fighting to break out either.

With the vault now before her, Hermione scanned the landing area but found it empty. No one was in this corridor, at least, so it appeared.

"Open the vault and then wait for me be the cart. I don't know how long I'll be," she snapped.

The goblin frowned, but obediently opened the vault and then moved to the cart that was a good ways away. Gathering her courage, Hermione stepped into the vault, giving the boys time to follow her in before closing the door, knowing that it was charmed to remain unlocked to those within.

She heard Harry say, "_lumos maxima_" and then light exploded around them. With the cloak removed, the boys were quick to put as much distance as possible between them.

The LeStrange vault looked like a slightly more organized Borgin and Burkes. Money seemed gathered in one half of the vault and items on the other. The problem, though, was the sheer volume of items. Rows and rows, some reaching towering heights, stood before them.

"We have to be quick," Draco murmured. "I'm pretty sure the goblins will send notice that the vault has been accessed."

"Sweet Merlin, we'll never find it. Look at all this!" said Ron, halfway between dismayed and impressed by the wealth before them.

"_Accio horcrux!_"

Hermione looked at Harry. "Did you really think that would work?"

Harry shrugged. "Not really, but it was worth a try."

She gave him a small smile. "Right. Well, remember, don't touch anything. We're not sure what sort of items are in here, but you can bet they're cursed and pack a wicked wallop. We all agreed the cup was most likely here, but make sure you keep an eye out for the diadem, and possibly the wand. Time is already short, so I think we should split up."

Draco shot her a look. "That's a horrible idea. We're too vulnerable alone, especially if someone accidentally brushes an item and gets cursed. Let's do pairs."

It would take longer, but he was right. There were too many variables to consider in this situation. Like he said, one of them can simply touch an item by accident and fall victim to a painful curse with none of the others the wiser. At least this way they could cover some ground and still be prepared to defend themselves, be it from dark objects or Death Eaters storming in.

"Agreed. Draco and I will cover the left side, you boys cover the right. It'll be easy to lose track of each other so send up green sparks when you find the horcrux, and red sparks if there's trouble. Be quick, but methodical. Harry, keep the cloak with you. If worse comes to worse and the Death Eaters come, you need to get yourself out."

"No Hermione, you should take it, you and Draco are both-"

"No," she she snapped. "Harry, you know the prophecy. You have to face him and you can't do that if you're dead. I may be hurt by Death Eaters, but you know he wants me alive. And sorry Malfoy, but his life is more important than yours right now."

Draco looked grim. "She's right, Potter. Take the cloak. I can take care of myself."

"Let's get to it," she said. Not giving Harry and Ron time to protest further, she grabbed Draco's arm and went off to start their search.

They'd only been at it for a few minutes when she felt compelled to say, "I'm sorry. About what I said, your life not being important." She kept her eyes furiously scanning the shelves, her wand at the ready.

"That's not what you said," Draco murmured. "You said Potter's was _more_ important, and loathe as I am to admit, you're right. Scarhead has to make it to the final showdown, but it's not exactly necessary for me to be there."

"But you will be," she promised. "I still don't like you, but I will do my best to keep you safe."

"How touching," he drawled, but she could see him slightly smiling out of the corner of her eye.

"How much time before they get here?" she asked.

For her and Draco, there was no _if_ the Death Eaters came, but _when_.

"Frankly I'm surprised they're not here already. You did well with that goblin, but you know as well as I do that they were expecting us."

That was true. Tom was no fool, and he knew she wasn't one either. He would've anticipated this move, was probably counting on it.

_My Hermione_... his voice was faint, but he sounded nearly gleeful.

She hissed when her wrist flared white hot. Draco's eyes shot to her and focused on her hand around her bad wrist. "Fuck," he muttered.

Hermione agreed.

They moved faster, knowing their time was nearly up. They scoured two more rows when Draco grabbed her arm and pointed up. "Sparks," he said.

Sure enough, green sparks were coming from the opposite side of the vault, right in the corner. Neither of them needed anymore motivation to have them break out into a run to where the horcrux awaited them. Hermione wasn't nearly as athletic as Draco so when she began to trip, she was grateful when he yanked her back up and continued to haul arse, his hand forcing her to keep up.

It took only a minute for them to scurry to a stop in the corner the sparks had hailed from, but they were shocked when Harry and Ron arrived seconds after them, both gasping for breath.

"Where is it?" asked Harry, trying to catch his breath.

"You tell us," Draco said. "We just got here."

There was a beat of silence.

"You didn't send up sparks?" Hermione asked lowly, not that she couldn't already tell the answer.

Harry's eyes were wide and he was about to respond when laughter cracked and echoed throughout the vault. It was female and tinted with a touch of insanity.

"Bellatrix," Draco confirmed, right before a curse smashed into the shelves right above them, sending item after item tumbling down towards them.

"Run!" Hermione screamed, shooting off after casting a quick shield above.

They should've known better. Of course they'd been here the whole time, waiting for them.

The four of them took off, Draco in the front and leading them to the opposite side of the room. Curses where flying after them, some of them so close she could feel the air _whoosh_ as they slipped by her, barely missing.

"Keep looking for it!" Hermione screamed as she launched stunners in the general direction where the hexes were coming from.

They could hear Bellatrix laughing. "Well hello there 'ickle babies. _Time to come out and plll-aay_!"

Her voice was grating and sing-song. Hermione shot Harry a quick glance, gauging his reaction, and was satisfied when she all she saw was the tight clenching of his jaw. He wasn't about to go off looking for a fight with her, not yet, at least.

"Hermione, down!" Draco yelled, pushing her out of the way of a spell. The look to Harry had almost cost her.

"Ohhh Herrrmione! Come out, _you filthy little Mudblood_!"

Unlike before, there was a real anger in that one, something that hinted at a very true desire to cause her pain.

_That might actually be useful_, she thought before shoving Ron out of the way of another hex. They'd been running aimlessly and had been lucky so far, but she knew something was bound to give soon.

"How many are there?" Ron wheezed when they crouched behind another shelf for cover, ducking out to launch a volley of spells and catching their breath.

"No idea, at least five given the directions the spells are coming from," Harry answered breathlessly.

"They're herding us," Draco gritted out. "We need to find the horcrux if it's still here."

"It's here," Harry said. "I can feel it. It's got to be here."

"Bloody hell," Ron cried as a slicing hex grazed him.

Hermione hit him with a healing charm and decided their plan had well and truly gone to hell and it was time for some Gryffindor impulsiveness.

"Move," she shoved Draco out of the way. "_Reducto!_" She hit the shelves shielding them and created a wave of cursed objects flying out and away from them.

They could hear some startled yelps coming from some that were hit, but Hermione ignored them and pushed out back the way they came. She could see Harry looked a bit confused on why they were running towards the danger, but logic told her that if they were trying to herd them then they were likely trying to keep them away from the horcrux.

As they closed in back to where they started, the number of spells aimed at them increased. The boys had adopted her _reducto_ idea of just blasting everything out and aways from them. Clearing a path and hitting random Death Eaters in the process.

A hand shot out from no where, grabbing and twirling Hermione so her back was to his front. She gave a startled yelp when a hand squeezed her throat, causing the others to turn to her in alarm.

"Let her go!" Harry yelled, wand aimed.

The Death Eater chuckled and Hermione instantly relaxed. He lowered his head to her ear, and Severus whispered, "Two rows from where we started. Get it and get yourself out. Tell Draco, _fiendfyre_."

She didn't nod or give the others any indication he'd spoken, but simply stomped on his foot, hit him with a cushioned repellant charm, and started running again. She sidled up to Draco and gasped, "He says fiendfyre."

Draco nodded, not needing to be told it had been Severus who'd held her.

"Follow me," she yelled, throwing out another _reducto_.

The cup was exactly where he said it was, teetered on the very top shelf a mere two rows from where they'd started the fray.

"Hurry," Ron shouted.

"Go Harry," Hermione agreed.

They formed a circle around him as Harry quickly reach into his robe and pulled out his shrunken firebolt.

"Get them!" Bellatrix screamed.

They could actually see the Death Eaters now – four, five, bloody hell, seven of them. Far more than they'd anticipated.

"Two for each of us," Hermione gritted. "Start now!"

She, Ron, and Draco took the two closet to them and began dueling, giving Harry time to fly up and get the cup.

Bellatrix giggled across from her. "I've been waiting for this," she said, eagerness dripping off every word.

Hermione's wrist throbbed. _She's always been a bit jealous_, she could hear Tom whisper.

"Have you now?" Hermione asked mildly, not taking her eyes away from her or the Death Eater behind her.

"Easy Bella," Severus murmured. "We'll take her alive, as ordered."

Bellatrix seethed at that. "She's not worthy!"

In her peripheral vision she could see Draco and Ron were back to back, throwing spells in a seemingly never ending stream of light from their wands.

_She will ignore orders, Hermione_, Tom's voice was stronger, more insistent than it'd ever been. _She's half mental – useful to me still, but deadly. You know what to do_.

Hermione's heart pounded, and she knew there had to be a hidden motive behind Thomas's help, but Merlin save her, she still trusted him just enough to believe he wouldn't get her killed.

So instead of joining the others in jumping straight into a duel, Hermione gave the other witch a smirk. "Your lord feels otherwise. He did marry me after all."

"You're not fit to lick his boots, Mudblood!" she screeched.

Hermione laughed. "I've licked a lot more than that on him."

_Very good, love_...

"_Crucio_!"

Hermione deflected the curse easily, but before she could retaliate, she heard Harry give a startled yelp. Looking up, she saw him struggling to hold the cup as it multiplied, tiny imitation cups raining down in the space between her and the others. Her heart clenched when she saw him crash somewhere near Ron when his broom was hit with a stray hex. Still, the cups grew between her and them, raising steadily higher.

Even as she decided what needed to be done, she knew Tom had somehow, someway planned this.

_A small sacrifice to have you again_, he purred in agreement.

Bellatrix was laughing as Harry struggled and didn't see the look Hermione shot Severus who nodded grimly.

"Draco, now!" she yelled. "Do it now!"

She could see he didn't want to, but Draco pointed his wand to the growing pile of cups and cast the curse.

Bellatrix stopped laughing as a roar filled the vault and giant flames in the shape of a dragon sprung up instantly, destroying the duplicate cups even as the flames lashed out at nearby wizards. Hermione knew that Draco was strong enough to control the flames, at least for a few moments, but they now had about five minutes tops before the magical fire destroyed everything.

"Harry," Hermione yelled. She hoped he could hear her over the fire's roar. "Throw the cup in the fire!"

If the long standing forgetfulness charm wasn't still working, she would've thought to throw in the locket too.

"No!" Bellatrix yelled, but it was only barely audible over the flames.

They had known that to destroy a horcrux one had to use something there was absolutely no escape from. Something that had no cure. Fiendfyre, Hermione remembered reading, was such a curse. It was far too dangerous to attempt at Grimmauld Place, but here in a bank vault, it was possible the fire would be contained.

And nothing, not even the horrible flames separating her from her companions and trapping her with Bellatrix and Severus, could stop the small victorious feeling that swelled when a low, howling scream filled the room. Harry had thrown in the cup.

Her locket flared and her wrist throbbed. Harry was screaming for her, but it sounded like it was coming from the end of a long tunnel.

Bellatrix hit her with a _crucio_ that had her twitching on the floor before Severus mercifully stunned her.

And even in the darkness, she could hear Tom's voice.

_You're mine now_...

(A/N): Just a funny side note... as I re-read this story in preparation for re-starting it again, I noticed many little hiccups and plot convenient devices I have in it. I'm not going to change anything as I find myself rather fond of some of them. It actually makes me sentimental since I started writing this when I was pretty young (and before I received a degree in Creative Writing) and no story is ever without some loopholes.

I want to thank you all again for your patience. This story may not be perfect (there's no pleasing everyone!) but it certainly is a labor of love for me. It's written for enjoyment, not to be the next fanfic snatched up for major publication, and I hope you all continue to enjoy it for what it is.


	34. Everything Screams

_Carpe Diem _

Chapter 34

"_I love you, Thomas," Hermione sighed, her breath fanning against his bare chest._

_Tom stirred and Hermione slid off as he propped himself up on one elbow. She smiled serenely, staring up at him as he loomed slightly over her._

"_Why do you call me that?" he murmured._

_Raising a brow, she asked, "What do you mean? That's your name, isn't it?"_

_His lips twitched, but he was still frowning slightly. "No one ever called me Thomas before you, and you only do it when you're feeling cross. Or particularly saccharine."_

"_Oh really?" she groused playfully, nudging him softly._

_Tom remained pensive even as he caught her hand, gently caressing her fingers. "Yes, Hermione. Tell me why." _

_Realizing that Tom was serious and truly wanted to know, Hermione allowed him to play with her fingers as she adopted his pensive air and thought about it. She supposed like most women, no matter how cliché it sounded, she used his full name in instances she was truly upset with him. Almost like she wanted to unconsciously let him know she was serious about whatever it was she was on about at the time. _

_There were other times though, tonight for instance, where his full name was said to show the depth of her love, almost like a pet name or term of endearment. It wasn't like she could call Tom 'sweetums' with a straight face, or any other ridiculous nickname. But when she called him Thomas she supposed it was the equivalent to how some called their lovers 'sweetheart.'_

_Either explanation was acceptable and equally true, but as Hermione lost herself deeper in contemplation, she recognized another reason. If she was being completely honest with herself she would have to admit that she called him Thomas as a way to distance the man she was in love with from the Voldemort and Tom Riddle everyone knew or would soon come to know. He would be known as many things in their world, but he would only be known as Thomas to her._

_It startled her that she could be that selfish. Perhaps it was a defense mechanism she used to justify her feelings for the man who would become the most feared dark wizard of her time, but when he was Thomas, he was simply her husband. Troubled and dark, certainly, but, in his own way, loving with her._

"_Hermione?" he softly prompted her._

_She cleared her throat. "Because you're **my** Thomas."_

_His eyes lit and he started to trace his fingertips over her collarbone. "Feeling possessive, are we?"_

_Her hand covered his and their fingers entwined resting over her heart. "No more than you are of me," she quipped._

_His look darkened and his hand tightened on hers. "You are mine, Hermione. You know that, right?"_

_Giving a small sniff she said, "How can I not when you see fit to remind me, and others, on a daily basis."_

_He moved closer until his lips kissed the side of her neck. Hermione gave a pleased sigh and tilted her head to allow him better access, an act of supplication that she knew pleased Tom well. He gave her an abrupt little nip along her jaw. _

"_We will always be together, Hermione," the sentiment held the weight of the darkest vow._

_She didn't doubt him..._

Screams echoed around her, quivering and on the verge of hysteria. Hermione blinked, half expecting to see Thomas hovering over her still, but the dream faded back into her memory and she slowly became aware of her surroundings.

The bed she was on was of modest size, the blankets thin and moth eaten. Every limb ached and trembled softly, a side effect of the cruciatus curse courtesy of Bellatrix. Her throat was painfully dry when she swallowed, probably owing to her own screams, and as she twisted her head to look around the darkened room everything swirled and blurred.

Abruptly the screams stopped. There was a heavy beat of silence until again, they started. By the sounds of it, someone was being tortured.

Attempting to move, Hermione jerked her legs and was met with a startled hiss. Instantly, she froze, her heart racing uncomfortably as she became aware of a solid weight across her feet. There was an unmistakable sound of something slithering before the weight eased and the hissing drew closer.

Eyes screwed shut, Hermione breathed deeply. She felt smooth scales sliding across the side of her arms before her face was nudged in a clear demand of attention. Ignoring the screaming still ringing through the walls and tamping down her fear, Hermione opened her eyes and slowly tilted her head to the side.

Nagini was lightly coiled beside her, her tongue flicking out and tasting the air at Hermione's check. If she didn't know any better, she would've thought the old snake was kissing her.

"N-Nagini," her voice shook over the name.

The snake uncoiled some and rubbed against her shoulder in a greeting in lieu of shaking hands.

She remembered – as if she could forget – finding Nagini in an obscure shop in Hogsmeade and purchasing her for a ridiculous amount of galleons for Tom at Christmastime. Also, she recalled Tom naming her and how the name-word haunted her for months until it ceased to be a reminder of the looming future and became the name of a beloved familiar. She'd handled Nagini easily in the past, her fingers often soothing the snake as it curled around her wrist. Tom would sometimes come home to find Hermione reading beside the fire, Nagini curled up on some random limb of hers.

"My girls," he'd drawl. But behind the sarcasm was a genuine pleasure of seeing them. A satisfaction Hermione had no doubt came from the snake's approval of her, as though Nagini's opinion weighed heavily upon him.

The snake before her was undoubtedly the same, but far larger than the one in Hermione's memory. She was surprised the snake had lived so long, but remembered the shop owner saying she was part magical breed and would have an unusually long lifespan for a snake.

"Do you – you remember me, yes?" her voice was still hoarse and her throat raw, but she managed to speak the words.

Nagini couldn't talk with Hermione as she could with Tom, but the snake had her own peculiar way of communicating that would have seemed unnatural had it not been the fact they lived in the wizarding world. The snake came closer still and curled in the empty L-shaped space between her neck and shoulder, her head coming to rest across Hermione's neck. To anyone else, the position would cause unease as Nagini's fangs we're dangerously close to a vital vein should she feel peckish, but to Hermione, it was a favorite position of theirs. It spoke of comfort and familiarity. There was no doubt that Nagini remembered her.

"Good girl," she mumbled through tears, her breath hitching as the screams stopped only to restart again. She'd hate to be whoever that poor soul was.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed before she heard the distinct sound of a door opening and footsteps moving to her. Closing her eyes, she feigned sleep and kept a hand loosely draped on Nagini.

"You're awake," someone stated.

Hermione's eyes flashed opened and she stared at Severus for a long moment before asking lowly, "What happened?"

He eyed Nagini warily who seemed to be eyeing him just as carefully. Hermione wanted to sit up but her limbs felt unnaturally weighted and shaky. Severus seemed to know she'd have trouble for he reached to her with exaggerated care, freezing when Nagini sat up and hissed.

"Hush Nagini, he's only helping me," Hermione gave the snake a gentle scold and a soft caress over her head. Nagini seemed to loosen some, but her eyes remained unerringly on Severus. Trying again, he carefully propped Hermione up, his gaze never leaving the snake as he handed Hermione some pepper-up potion that she downed thankfully. Some of the fogginess left her, but the shaking and ache didn't leave her. There was no potion for that.

"What do you remember?" he asked.

"The vault," she frowned in thought. "The cup," she added with grim satisfaction knowing it had been destroyed. "Bellatrix's curse and then darkness."

Severus stared at her. The screaming continued in the silence and Hermione shivered in fear. Severus was an expert of reading her emotions and body movements and told her, "You're safe. He left me to guard you, and then Nagini to protect you from even me, if necessary." Again, he shot the snake a weary look. While not overtly threatening at the moment, he knew from past experience how temperamental the snake could be.

"He?" Hermione asked, knowing the answer.

"The Dark Lord," Severus nodded. "With you on our side of the fire, Bellatrix and I were able to take you and bring you here where you belong, with our lord."

She noted the peculiar way he was talking and heeded the unspoken warning. Here, he was her ally but still a Death Eater. They could not speak openly.

Somewhere in this house, Tom was waiting for her. She nearly gagged in her fear, her breathing picking up until she was dangerously close to hyperventilating, until she forced herself to remain calm. Giving in to hysterics now would solve nothing but put her in even more danger.

"Easy now," Severus murmured.

Hermione nodded. "Did you stun me?" she asked suddenly, remembering the abrupt darkness that had shrouded her while under Bellatrix's curse.

"Bella was unable to control herself. You were not to be harmed, our orders were very clear. I stunned you – a mercy I'm sure you agree – and restrained Lestrange. Once she was calm," he sneered the last word. "We were able to leave the vault and escape the fire. We apparated here."

"And where are we?"

"The Dark Lord's safe house. A home he purchased some 55 years ago, or thereabouts."

Doing the math, Hermione gasped. Tears collected in her eyes and streamed unrestrained down her cheeks. She would've been with him then, when he bought it. Looking around, she saw the room with new eyes. It was indeed a bedroom she was in, not some sort of dungeon. She supposed at one time, the room would've been beautiful but it had fallen into disrepair. There were shabby, moth eaten curtains and every piece of furniture seemed to be covered in a thick layer of dust. It reminded her a bit of Grimmauld Place, even the screaming reminded her of the portrait of Mrs. Black.

"The screaming?" she asked, unable to ignore it anymore.

Severus gave a dark smile. "Bellatrix. The Dark Lord is most displeased with her."

A small shiver of satisfaction drifted through Hermione before she forced it away, telling herself it was wrong to feel that way.

_Not wrong at all, my dear. She disobeyed a direct order by attacking you. Were it not that I needed every wand at my disposal..._ Tom's voice had returned along with the ache in her wrist. Whatever Tom did with the nightscape, she hoped it wasn't permanent.

"What are we doing here? Why am I here?" she asked sharply, rubbing the ache in her wrist.

"You are here because our Lord demanded it," Severus stated.

"Why?"

"It is not my place to question the Dark Lord," Severus murmured obediently, but gave her a sharp look that clearly said _don't be an imbecile_ as he glanced pointedly at her locket and wedding ring.

"What will happen to me?"

Severus quirked his head to the side. "That is for him to decide," he said unconcernedly, but a soft touch of his fingers to hers offered some comfort. She was quite thoroughly caught, but she wasn't entirely alone.

She swallowed dryly and gave Nagini another soft caress when she felt the snake stir against her.

"You handle her well," Severus noted, an attempt at distraction.

Biting her lip, Hermione looked down at the snake. "I bought her for him our first Christmas," she confessed.

The slight widening of his eyes was the only indication of Severus's shock. "Then she is an appropriate guard for you, indeed."

The screaming stopped again. She'd been so used to it that it took her a moment to notice the silence, but when she did she was startling unconcerned as she and Severus merely waited for them to begin again. But they didn't. Silence reigned heavy and telling.

A thought struck her suddenly. If the Dark Lord was done with seeing to Bellatrix, his first stop would be her room...

"Leave," came a cold command.

Hermione jumped and then froze. She'd not heard anyone enter the room.

Severus bowed his head obediently. There was no hesitation in him as he backed away from her and left the room.

Her heart was hammering, but fear kept her frozen. Every one of her senses was unnaturally heightened. She could feel the cold kiss of a air against her skin, smell the dust lingering in the room, and hear the swish of a cloak as someone moved closer to her.

A sibilant hiss came from just behind her, and in response, Nagini slithered across Hermione's stiffened legs and down the bed. Hermione could hear her moving against the wood floor but was unable to bring herself to turn and see where the snake ended up. A part of her wanted to reach out and snatch her back, hug Nagini to her like a security blanket. But a strange combination of fear, anticipation, and fascinated horror gripped her as tightly as if she had been petrified again.

The silence hung like lead in the air and Hermione wished to hear the screams again. To have something break the static tension in her mind and body.

Two cold hands were placed on her shoulders, the fingers, long and thin.

Her mind flashed to a memory of Thomas holding her, the same hands gripping the small of her back. The same fingers tracing circles along her naked skin.

The air stirred behind her and she could feel a cold breath against the back of her neck.

"Hermione," he breathed.

And she shivered.

(A/N): Mwahahahaha... that's right, that's where I'm ending it! This chapter is a bit shorter than usual, but that's because I'm splitting it in half. I hope to have the next part posted by the weekend at the latest, so try to be patient. Just let the visual simmer a bit ;)


	35. Ruined

(A/N): You know, I was once sorted into Slytherin – just saying. Once again unedited, but hope you'll still enjoy...

**_Carpe Diem  
Chapter 35_**

The tell-tale crack of apparation echoed in the entryway of Grimmauld Place, followed by several muted thuds and cursing.

"Ge'off me ferret! - Can't believe we just left her!"

"-No choice, now shove off. I got to find my dad."

There was shuffling and a few groans as they untangled, wounds smarting and the several burns covering each of them stinging. It'd been Draco's brilliant idea to find one of the dragons rumored to be lurking in the lower levels of the bank in order to make their escape. Not only did they have to get passed the Death Eaters that'd been waiting outside the vault to ambush them, but it seemed the goblins hadn't taken too kindly to their presence as well and they'd have to escape them too.

Luck had been on their side. They'd found a dragon chained and near starved to death – it didn't take much to prompt the creature to fly to freedom, carrying the three of them with him.

"Draco," Lucius rushed out of his seat when the trio crashed through the house. A small frown of worry was the most he was willing to show as his son nearly collapsed in a mess of soot, sweat, and blood.

He was quick to take quick inventory of the boys and set aside his parental concern when he saw most of the wounds were superficial. It seemed the boys were fine – tired and beat to hell – but fine. Still, the small niggling fissure of fear that'd started upon their entrance suddenly exploded and the words, "Where's Hermione?" flew out of his mouth in a panic rush.

There was a telling silence.

"They've got her," Draco quietly admitted.

"And it's all his ruddy fault!" Ron screamed, launching himself with a surprising amount of strength at the blonde wizard.

There was a scuffling as Remus and Lucius pried the boys apart, but Draco for the most part said nothing and silently absorbed the blame, telling himself it was nothing but the truth.

"Tell me everything. Now," Lucius hissed.

Rambling and half talking over each other, the events were relayed. It'd been a trap. Draco had cast the fiendfyre curse at Hermione's order, though he'd been loath to do so. Not for fear of the curse itself but for exactly what had happened. She'd been too far away from them and the fire had been a barrier no one could cross. He'd known the instant he cast the curse that she'd be taken, and Draco rather suspected she'd known it too.

Bloody Gryffindors, so self-sacrificing.

"What do we do now?" Remus asked in the silence that followed their story.

Harry, who'd been suspiciously silent since their arrival, suddenly straightened from his haunched posture. "No more waiting," he said, conviction dripping from each word. "We take the fight to him. Force him out and get Hermione back."

"And how do you propose we do that, Potter?" There was no real venom behind Draco's barb.

Shuffling his robes aside, Harry showed them how. "With this," he said tightly, holding Gryffindor's sword in a white knuckled fist.

"Wh-where did you get that?"

"Found it before we left the vault. Figured we could use it seeing as how it was forged with basilisk venom. Fiendfyre destroyed the cup. I reckon this'll work on the others."

A gathering sense of purpose slowly filled them, a unanimous agreement and determination.

"Tonight," Harry promised grimly, "we're taking back Hogwarts. And when he comes to stop us, we're finishing this. Once and for all."

* * *

_The air stirred behind her and she could feel a cold breath against the back of her neck._

"_Hermione," he breathed._

_And she shivered._

His hands were deceptively light as they slowly grazed up to her neck, his fingernails scratching along her hammering pulse. Suddenly his fingers were splayed across her throat and he tightened his grip in warning.

"What? No greeting for your husband?" he hissed.

Chest burning with fear, Hermione remained silent, her rational mind lost to the stranglehold of shock. She swallowed deeply, feeling the impression of each of his fingers with the motion.

"And what are these?" he tsk'd mockingly. "Tears of joy, perhaps?"

One of his hands left her throat to sweep the tears away from her cheeks before it was abruptly shoved into her hair, yanking her head back against his shoulder. He loomed over her, dipping his head to breathe in her scent along her neck before pressing his thin lips to her ear.

"You said you'd never leave me, Hermione," he whispered ominously. "What do you have to say for yourself?" There was a very clear threat behind his words.

Merlin, even if she had an answer she wouldn't be able to force it out around the lump in her throat. One thing Hermione'd never been accused of was being a coward, but in this very moment, it was all she could do to silent the sobs wracking her body and remember to breathe.

His hand tightened in her hair and yanked. She gave a small sob of pain while flinching in his hold. "Answer me," he demanded darkly and she felt the sharp sting of his teeth against her earlobe.

"I-I-I didn't leave," she said in a soft warble. "Not by choice."

He gave a deceptively disinterested, "Is that so?" as his lips continued to lightly graze along her neck.

She shivered, not entirely from fear, and she could feel his thin lips curve up into a smirk. Hermione closed her eyes in shame, but the tears continued ceaselessly.

"I suppose I should thank you," he murmured darkly. "Had it not been for your arrival and subsequent departure, I may not have had the fortitude to do what was necessary to reach this level of greatness."

"W-what?" she hiccuped. Of all things she'd expected him to say, that certainly had not been it.

"That's right, my dear. You were exactly the catalyst my young self needed to break the barrier of mediocrity. Everything that has happened, everything that will come – _it is all from you_."

She gagged.

"Open your eyes," he commanded. "Look at me."

She shook her head, her locks tugging sharply in his unwavering hold. "Please no," she begged. It would kill her, she absolutely knew it. It would kill a part of her to see _her_ Thomas – pale skin, thick hair, wicked green eyes – it would kill her to see it all replaced by the pallid snakelike features and red eyes she knew Lord Voldemort to have. He'd burned away his humanity in the quest for immortality.

"Yes Hermione, you _will_ look upon me. See the wizard you helped create."

He twisted her in his grasp and pulled her up from the bed flush to his chest. Her weak limbs shook, unable to support her weight, but his bruising grip held her to him firmly. A hand moved to her chin, tilting her head back.

"_Look at me_!" he roared, and her eyes flew open.

A moment passed and all she could do was stare.

Red eyes. Her husband had _red eyes_.

His height had not changed, but that was about all she could say. Gone was the peach undertone of life and happiness, his skin now shining grey. His hair, his glorious hair that she'd run her fingers through nightly, tugging lightly at the base of his neck, was gone. And his nose was flatter than it had been, the nostrils flaring as he heaved at her.

And yet... the differences were not so dramatic as she thought they'd be. The nose and hair were certainly the most glaring changes, but the shape of his eyes was the same. His cold hands held her as though he'd never stopped doing so. They felt comfortingly familiar even as they dug into her chin, holding her gaze captive.

There was no denying the innate _wrongness_ in the wizard before her, but the subtle similarities screamed at her and were enough to make her recognize Thomas in Lord Voldemort. Enough to bolster her courage even as her heart wept for the loss of the man she knew.

"Oh Thomas, what have you done to yourself?" she asked, her hand subconsciously lifting to caress his face only to fall before touching him.

There was a strange shuttering in his eyes. "What have I done?" he echoed, eyes roaming across her features, drinking her in. "You knew," he reminded her. "You've always known. Do not pretend otherwise."

"Thomas," she cried. It was not a plea to the man before her, but a mournful cry for the husband she'd lost. She felt her heart being squeezed in a vice. They'd told her. They'd told her that her husband was dead, that Lord Voldemort was all that remained.

But to see it. To see how he'd transformed, shed his humanity and chipped away at his soul until all that remained was a black void, a dark nothingness that consumed him...

"Hermione."

She shook her head. "_What have you done_?" she sobbed. "I'd known, yes, but I'd hoped. It didn't have to be this way. You are not my husband. _You killed him_!"

She sounded like a stark raving lunatic, her words fevered and racing from her without thought in between sobs and hiccups.

"Thomas, Thomas, Thomas..."

Her body was rocking against him. "I want him back. I want _my_ Thomas back!"

He held her to him tighter still. "I am _your_ Thomas," he hissed right before his lips crushed hers.

Reflex had her eyes falling shut, her hands desperately clutching handfulls of his robes. His lips awakened a cold familiarity in her. They were Thomas's lips. She was kissing Thomas.

"And you are mine, Hermione," he said against her lips. "Mine."

The familiar oath flooded her with a sickening sense of warmth. It was comfortable, familiar. Something he'd always told her.

She remembered their Hogwarts graduation. Headmaster Dippet had finish his long, drawn out speech the feast was well underway. She and Tom kept to themselves at the Slytherin table, sitting far away from Professor Dumbledore who'd taken to sitting on their side of the hall, often trying to make eye contact with Hermione.

"_The world is ours now, Hermione," Tom breathed into her ear as they celebrated the end of their final year._

_Leaning against him, she sighed heavily. "I don't want the world, Thomas. I just want you."_

_Smirking, he countered, "But I want it, my dear. And I always get what I want."_

"_Always? I find that hard to believe."_

_He tilted her head back to meet his eyes. "I got you, didn't I? You're mine." _

_Hermione lowered her eyes. "Yes," she confessed. Around them the students were celebrating, the End of Term feast louder and rowdier than any other. Even the Slytherins were particularly chatty, and several pops came from the other house tables, firecrackers and sparks flying in the air as the teachers smiled indulgently. But she and Tom may well have been alone as they sat next to each other._

"_You have me," she confirmed softly._

"_And you will never leave me. It's you and me now, Hermione," his voice was deep and compelling. He rewarded her with a heated kiss after the declaration, far more passionate than they usually let themselves be in public. Tongue battling hers, his fingers sifted through her hair as he pulled her closer and tighter until not even the candlelight could slip between them, like he was trying to mold her body into his._

He was kissing her with the same intensity now, a hint of madness lingering in his every touch. The cold radiating from him felt like ice being dragged across her fiery skin and where they touched they melted together. She would've turned into a puddle at his feet had she not been determined to return his kiss with just as much anger and passion.

Abruptly, he yanked her from him. "Do not ever doubt, Hermione, that you are mine. You've always been mine."

Her wrist throbbed in punctuation and she felt dizzy and breathless. _Mine, mine, mine_, Thomas's voice chanted in her head.

"What did you do to my wrist?"

He smiled, a truly terrifying sight. "A gift. We are linked for good now. There is no escaping me."

"And you just love that, don't you? I'm not a possession, Thomas!"

The retort had flown from her lips in reflex. It always been something she'd said to Tom when his possessiveness became too overwhelming. In the past, Tom would always smirk cockily and proceed to seduce her, more often than not making her so desperate for his touch that she'd beg for him and parrot whatever obedient words he'd want to hear at the time. A delicious torture that she was all too happy to surrender to.

But the man she'd just snapped at wasn't the same as he'd once been. Gone was the cocky smirk, the dangerous but playful glint to his eyes.

Furious, he threw her from him. Her hip caught the side of the bed with bruising force and without his support she collapsed to the floor, her knees scraping against the wood. She gasped which turned into a pained cry when Tom reached down and hauled her back up by her hair.

"If you act like a rueful child you will be treated as such," he spat.

A sorrowed-tinted anger swelled. Tom had always been a dark and hard man, she'd never been in denial about that, and there'd been times when he was emotionally abusive if only to make a point with her. But he'd never lifted his wand or hand to her. He'd never physically hurt her before. If anything, he'd protected her from harm – harm from the kids at the orphanage, his followers, even Grindlewald himself.

"You are not my husband." Though she said it in a whisper, steel underlined every word, not softened even by the new tears that filled her eyes. Tears that were in never-ending supply, apparently.

"I am all that's left," he admitted, unashamed. "You will come to terms and accept your fate. I may not be the man you once called husband, but _you_ are still _my wife_."

"I will never accept this," she vowed. "Deep down you know this, Thomas. It is not my nature to accept brutality. You've become a monster."

"So you say. But you've already accepted it, Hermione. You told me, remember? _Whatever happens, Thomas, I love you. Knowing you as I do now, and knowing what you become, I love you. I think I was always meant to_. That is what you told me that night, remember? Our last night."

Of course, she remembered. It was the night her heart tore into pieces, never to be whole again. And she meant it at the time, maybe she even meant it now. She was confused, hurt and exhausted. There wasn't a word for how truly discombobulated she felt.

Ruined, she finally decided. She was ruined.

Before she could give any sort of response, there was a timid knock at the door which was answered by an angry hiss from Nagini.

"Enter," Voldemort commanded.

Peter Pettigrew came in, bowing and scraping. "My lord, please, forgive the intrusion," he stuttered, rightfully afraid of punishment.

"Speak quickly, Wormtail, and then leave. We will revisit the subject of your impertinence at a later date."

Wormtail flinched, then cleared his throat. "It would seem that Hogwarts has been compromised."

"What was that?" Each word vibrated with Tom's fury.

Trembling, Wormtail said again, "Hogwarts is compromised. We've received word that Potter and the rest of the Order are there."

"Is that so?" Tom asked rhetorically. "Let us go and meet the boy if he is so eager to die. Prepare the others."

Wormtail scurried out.

"It appears the hour is upon us, Hermione. You and Nagini will stay with me. When you see that foolish Potter boy fall dead at our feet, maybe then you will accept your fate," he swore.

With his fingers digging deep into her forearm, he called Nagini to them and she obediently wrapped herself around their ankles right before they apparated with the a muted _pop_.

* * *

(A/N): Please let me know what you thought of this chapter – I hope it lived up to everyone's expectations. I was very nervous as I uploaded it as I know all of you were so eager to see some Hermione/Voldemort interaction.

And, thank you, thank you, thank you for all of your reviews! I don't have time to reply to them individually but I read each and every one of them and adore hearing what you all think. So many people are positively demanding a happy ending for our dysfunctional couple, but I'm not giving anything away! Maybe Lord Voldemort will find his heart... maybe he'll go down in a blaze of glory... maybe he'll wear a tutu and dance the nutcracker – for all you readers know, it just might happen ;)


	36. Death

(A/N): Wanted to post this sooner, but my daughter decided to share her cold with me. She's so sweet!

**_Carpe Diem _**  
**_Chapter 36_**

It became very apparent to Hermione just how much her life had unraveled when she found herself sitting on the cold, hard ground in the Forbidden Forest. She had always been a pensive person, but as she sat surrounded by Death Eaters who were preparing to storm Hogwarts, she felt contemplative in a philosophical way that bordered on divining.

She'd never believed in that tripe, of course. Free will was impossible to predict and a people were as fickle as the wind, their choices impossible to predict, so it was really quite impossible to divine the future. But as she lost herself in thought, she looked at Harry's life, Draco's even, juxtaposed against her own and began to see the patterns that structured their decisions, bringing them all to this moment where they found themselves on the brink of war.

Falling in love with Thomas had been easy. Her younger self had been vulnerable to his manipulations, willing even for she'd known all along he was no innocent. She'd just lost her parents and had yet to cope with their deaths. She'd just learned of Lucius and Severus keeping information from her, lying to her in a betrayal that truly cut. And then she found herself in Tom's time, alone and emotionally wounded. And Tom, despite his bravado, had been equally wounded by his own past. Yes, it'd been all too easy to fall for Tom Riddle. They'd been alike in many ways, and different in enough to keep things interesting. They had chemistry, her mum would say.

It was hard not to wonder if things would've been different had her parents not died just before she found herself in the past. If Lucius and Severus had been truthful and forthcoming, maybe she wouldn't have fallen so easily under Tom's spell.

Free will could change any situation – making it impossible to predict. She still believed this with every fiber of her being. But circumstances could be manipulated, encouraging certain outcomes.

_I need to go someplace where I can be safe and find the answers I seek, a place where no one can reach me…_

She remembered thinking those words over and over as she paced outside the Room of Requirement. That sad but determined expression on Albus's face as he forced her into a revelation that would move her through time and space was still burned in her mind. And she remembered the question she'd asked herself time and time again...

___What must I do?_

She'd first asked this while helping Harry get through the potions riddle, knowing she had to go for help, but not wanting to leave Harry to face danger alone. When students were getting petrified, she began researching furiously to find out what was causing it, how she could prevent it. In third year, she'd found herself asking the question again when dementors and Sirius Black seemed intent on killing Harry. Again in fourth year and helping Harry in the tournament, fifth year with Umbridge and the Department of Mysteries.

And finally, sixth year. When they learned of horcruxes, and Albus died and it became so apparent that they were losing the war... all she could ask herself was, what must I do? What must I do to save my friends? What must I do to make sure we win this war?

___What must I do?_ It had been the mantra of her life at Hogwarts.

In answer to that, the Room of Requirement sent her back in time, brought her to Tom – Tom to her. Not that it mattered which. She'd had no instructions, no plan laid out for her to follow... just an opportunity. A situation fate may have designed, but Hermione's free will fulfilled.

Sighing, she abandoned those heavy thoughts. There were more important things to consider given the moment. The Death Eaters were giving her a wide berth owing to Tom's watchful eye and Nagini's quick fangs, but she caught a few disgusted glares from some of the braver souls. That was oddly reassuring when compared to some of the other followers, not many but certainly more than enough, who were looking at her with the same fearful worship reserved for Tom. There was not enough time in the world to begin analyzing how that made her feel.

She caught sight of Severus often. He was skirting the fringes of where Tom was keeping her secluded, lurking close enough to keep an eye on her but far enough away to avoid punishment. Tom had already cursed a couple Death Eaters he thought were too close to her, a mercy considering Nagini had been coiled to spring at them herself.

She even saw glimpses of Bellatrix, limping and looking two shades short of death. The insane witch caught her gaze once, hate and pure jealousy coming from her in waves. Hermione just smirked at her, a small and soft curling of her lips upwards, pleased to see the woman that had caused her and her friends much grief brought down for size.

Tom had witnessed the exchange and had smirked himself, looking entirely too pleased with the situation, which infuriated Hermione. She hated to think that he was twisting her into something she wasn't, or worse, revealing a side of her that she'd never known she'd had.

War did things to people, she could attest to that, but she flat out refused to be twisted into what Tom had clearly always wanted her to become. Or maybe it was what he needed her to be now, for her Thomas had certainly tried to mold her into a powerful witch, but he'd also been inanely pleased with her as she was. Sure, they'd bickered and fought over many things, but it was all a strange form of foreplay too. They'd thrived on it.

Not anymore. She thought ruefully about how he had casually tossed her aside. The bruise on her hip still smarted and the back of her head felt tender from how he had pulled and yanked at her hair.

Sighing, she lied down onto the floor, ignoring the small pricks of twigs and leaves. The preparation for battle was strangely boring as she had no part to play at the moment. Nagini curled up beside her again and against her better judgement, sleep pulled her eyes closed and brought her refuge from the stress and danger her life had become.

___Hermione was sitting on the edge of the bed from the room Tom had kept her in. It was daytime, making the room strangely bright and cheerful. It was clean, too, shining like new in the sunlight. _

___The bed dipped behind her._

_"__Do you like it?" Tom asked softly. "I bought it for you."_

___Her fingers lightly traced the blanket and she tilted her head to take in the room. "It's beautiful. I would've loved it."_

___Two hands slipped over her shoulders in a light massage. He grazed a fresh bruise and she winced. "You shouldn't make me so angry, Hermione. You know better."_

___Turning, she faced him and was only mildly surprised to meet the green eyes of her husband. He looked exactly as he had on the day she left. His lithe body was closer to her than she'd first estimated, and his black hair was artfully styled and practically begged her fingers to sift through the locks._

_"__This is another dream," she stated, her hand crossing the bed to his._

___He clasped her hand. "Yes," he admitted. "But that doesn't make it any less real."_

___Frowning, she pulled his hand to her cheek and nuzzled his palm. How she'd missed his touch... "Why do you look like this?"_

___Smirking, he fixed his hand more firmly against her face, fingers tracing her lips. "I look how you want me to, how you still see me in your mind. And heart."_

_"__Why Thomas? Why have you done this? You must know, this night – the battle, it won't end well for us."_

___He moved closer to her, taking her in his arms and holding her to him. "I will keep you safe," he said. "When the opposition is removed, I will build us a new world."_

_"__Do you even hear yourself? You sound like some idyllic little schoolboy. You are absolutely mental."_

_"__Mental?" he hissed, roughly flinging her down onto the bed and hovering over her a moment before allowing his body to fall onto her, pinning her to the bed. "The things I could teach you, Hermione, would make you mental as well. I spent the first few years following your absence chasing immortality to ensure I'd be able to see you again. Now I've all but achieved it. I won't ever stop. I will be the greatest, most powerful wizard of all time, and you – you will be beside me, as was meant to be."_

___She shook her head as she cried. "But why, Thomas?" she asked, putting her hands on his cheeks and holding his hard gaze. "Why must you travel this path? Why can't I be enough?"_

___He kissed her tears away, his lips skimming across her face. "Do not cry, love. It'll all be over soon."_

___She gripped him tighter. "I'm here with you now, Thomas. You don't need power, immortality... they are a fool's pipe dream that will hurt you in the end – hurt me in the end." She took a quivering breath and found the courage to beg lowly, "Run away with me, Thomas. We can run and hide someplace and they'll never find us. It'll be you and me. Please..."_

___Tom became unnaturally still, his lips still pressed to one cheek. "You are not so naive to believe that tripe, Hermione Riddle. It is too late. I will see this through."_

___Hermione swallowed a sob, knowing he was right. She would've run away with him in a heartbeat, but Tom had lived over fifty years without her. He'd shaped his whole life around his quest to find immortality, power, and her. He'd never stop._

_"__I love you, Thomas. And I hate you," she confessed, pulling his lips to hers, kissing him with every ounce of emotion within her._

___He returned every the action with as much emotion. Striped bare of the outside world, they stole this moment together – both of them pulled down different roads fate had put before them, but not wanting to travel without the other. _

___But Hermione knew, their time was coming to an end. She couldn't say for certain what end they would come to, but it was looming closer with each passing second. _

_"__You taste like goodbye," Tom whispered. "You taste like the night he sent you back."_

_"__No more talking," she said lowly, her hands pulling at his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer to her. "I don't want to feel anymore. Just be with me now, if only for a little while."_

___He did not respond verbally, but Hermione could taste a hint of farewell in his kiss as well._

When she woke, it was to overhear Tom's voice echoing from his _sonorus_ spell, tempting Harry to sacrifice himself to save the others and meet him one on one. And she just knew it would work. Harry was a brave, noble fool sometimes.

Tom looked over at her after ending the spell, his red eyes unreadable as the scanned her prone body from head to toe. When she felt her wrist flare, she twitched it and his eyes followed the movement unerringly.

Slowly, he walked over to her, kneeling uncomfortably close to her.

"Pleasant dreams?" he asked mildly.

She blushed, her mind jumping to how Tom's body had felt over hers, moving against her, within her.

A smirk twitched at his lips. "I will see to making your dreams come true later, my dear," he murmured silkily. "After I have taken care of Potter, once and for all."

She was almost entirely certain he said it only to get some sort of reaction from her. This new Tom, this Tom as Voldemort before her, had given no indication that he wanted her if only because he saw her as his property. It certainly wasn't love that had him so fixated on keeping her. Perhaps there was some lust, but Tom's sexual lust had long since been overruled by his lust for power.

"Let me go," she begged softly, her voice soft and plaintive in a way she'd never spoken to him before.

His eyes flared. "Never," he vowed.

"Harry will come," she said. "I don't want to see it. I'm tired, Thomas. Please. I can't take anymore."

He tilted his head and studied her. "Weakness does not become you, Hermione. You will see this through. _I_ will see this through."

"Remove the nightscape," she tried a new approach. "I can't take seeing you as you were, only to wake up to this."

"I will not," he said dismissively.

"Don't you see you're killing me, Thomas," she whimpered. "You're killing me."

"It is but a small taste, Hermione," he said, pressing his lips to her ear. "Of what I went through without you."

When he was close to her like this she didn't have to see his red eyes and it gave her a small amount of courage. "Is that what this is, then? Revenge for my leaving you all those years ago?"

His hand curled around her bisep and hauled her up as he stood. "Do not flatter yourself, my dear," he bit off. "Come. Let us go meet Potter, Hermione. I'm sure he is anxious to see you."

Harry was, indeed, anxious to see Hermione, she could see that quite clearly when he came into their clearing a few minutes later.

"Hermione!" he said, moving to her, scanning her for injury.

Tom lifted his wand and Harry froze. "Now, now, Potter. Where are your manners? Bow before my wife, boy. She is above you now."

"Harry-" she started, but Tom's grip tightened on her arm and she gasped in pain.

"Let her go!"

Tom laughed mockingly. "Never, you foolish boy. Don't you see? She's the reason you're here. She's the reason for everything that's happened. She's the reason you're about to die."

"Don't listen, Harry. I never told him a word about you, especially not back then," she said furiously, tugging against Tom's grip.

Harry raised his wand to Voldemort, but froze when the wizard pulled Hermione in front of him, one arm draped across her waist and the other gripping her throat.

"Not a word? How about only _one_ word, Hermione? _Harry_, you said. _Harry_, the name you uttered when that boggart turned into a mirror of this very boy. One word that echoed for the years to come, only to scream out when I heard of that ruddy prophecy. You are the reason I went after the Potters. _You are the reason his parents are dead_."

All the air flooded out of her and she gasped in horror.

___Merlin no_, she thought, her mind sputtering in circles. It couldn't be.

_I want to die_, she thought, her entire being filled with horror at what Tom was saying to her, to Harry. That all of those years of hiding her past, of keeping her secrets, that one lesson at school had destroyed them all.

Her body went limp against him, the small amount of fight she'd been clinging to draining instantaneously.

"You've ruined me, Thomas," she surrendered to him, her throat burning in his grasp.

"Stop it, you're killing her," Harry yelled, breaking out of his stupor when he saw Hermione go weightless.

Voldemort laughed. "You are a fool to have come, Potter. I will kill you now. Do not worry about Hermione, I will take care of her." There was certainly nothing reassuring meant to be had from that.

But Harry smiled, looking oddly victorious as he faced countless Death Eaters, their leader poised to kill him. "A fool? Maybe you're the fool, Riddle, to think I would come alone. I've learned from my mistakes, can't say you have."

A volley of spells bombarded the clearing, and Hermione abruptly found herself in the middle of a battle, near passed out and without a wand. Harry had certainly wandered into the trap alone, but it would seem he was intent on springing a trap of his own.

With Tom now dueling Harry and the other Death Eaters fending off an unexpected attack, Hermione slowly pulled herself along the ground, trying to find somewhere to hide or an ally to join.

"Granger!" she heard, and then Draco Malfoy was in front of her, throwing a curse over his shoulder.

"Malfoy," she rasped. Tom had bruised her throat and it burned to talk.

"Bloody hell, some party, eh?"

She was about to reply when Nagini made herself known, having not forgotten the task her master had given her – to protect mistress above all others.

"Fuck," he hissed, eyeing the snake.

"Nagini," Hermione said. "No, please, stop Nagini."

The snake hesitated, but then curled, poised to strike. And then was promptly cut in half.

Draco pulled the sword of Gryffindor back up and grinned at a shocked Hermione. "Kind of ironic, right? A Slytherin using this sword?"

"W-What?"

"Potter nicked it while in the vault. Amazing foresight on his part. We destroyed the diadem with it, now Nagini... just hold still and I'll get that bloody locket."

A pang of sadness swelled at the thought of Nagini, who really was only guilty of being Tom's familiar, but she didn't have any time to dwell on the loss as Draco worked the sword between her neck and the chain of her locket, giving a forceful but careful pull away and snapping the chain.

The locket fell with a muted thud, audible even over the shouting of the battle. Hermione stared at it, finally remembering she'd been wearing it. Resentment burned in her as she thought of all the times Tom had dismissed her questions about it, how the forgetfulness charm steered her thoughts away from the trinket whenever she focused too hard on it. Tom had saved her life when he gave her that dark object, using it to find her when she'd been kidnapped, but he'd _used_ her too.

An insurance policy, he'd told her.

Draco's sudden shout of pain broke her bitter thoughts. Some Death Eater had hit him with a slicing hex across his arm and he dropped the sword which he'd been lifting over the locket, ready to strike.

Her eyes scanned the clearing, taking in the battle, the bodies that had already fallen - dead or unconscious, she would have to find out later. Tom and Harry were talking in between curses, both focused only on the other, intent on winning their final showdown. Neville was down not too far from them, bleeding and twitching in pain, and Luna stood over him like a true lioness – firing curses with an alacrity most would never expect her to possess. Ron and Ginny were fighting back to back, but there was a fierceness to their movements that the Weasleys had never possessed. Hermione hated to think what had put that level angry determination there.

She thought she saw a glimpse of Lucius and Severus, but they were gone again under a volley of spells coming at them from both Death Eaters and Order members – both sides finally aware of their duplicity but unsure of where they truly stood, thus determined to eliminate them altogether.

Looking again to the locket, she saw the sword lying beside it, heard Draco saying something to her desperately from what sounded like impossibly far away. Her vision tunneled on the sword, a steely resolve shook her hands as she reached down for it, her fingers gripping the hilt tightly with purpose.

It sounded like a shout came from Tom – there was a fierce, angry burning in her wrist – but she ignored the pain, both physical and emotional, and brought the sword swiftly down onto the locket. Her arms jarred as the sword connected to it, a loud shattering and howling filling the clearing. Those closest to her stopped and looked, watched as a swirl of black smoke wove around her, caressing her even as it howled in undeniable pain before it was sucked back into the locket.

A static quiet hovered. Hermione looked at the locket. It laid cracked and broken on the ground, the gold glinting eerily in the moonlight.

Before she could analyze the emotions sweeping through her, there was a furious shout, before she heard Tom's near hysterical voice say, "_Avada Kedavra!_"

For one brief, horrible moment, she stood unmoving, accepting of the bolt of green light she was sure was coming for her. It'd been worth it, she told herself. Perhaps if Harry would be able to defeat Tom now, and she'd find him in the next life. Maybe they could be together then.

But the light never came.

A deep, chuckle echoed around them. Her eyes shot open and flew to Tom. He was laughing, his whole body vibrating with the maniacal chuckle. At his feet, Harry's body was laid out, prone and unmoving.

"_I've killed Harry Potter!_" Tom said in gleeful madness, his very being radiating triumph. "The Boy Who Lived is _dead_! You will surrender to me now!"

A disbelieving quiet clung to the area, only broken by Tom's raspy, dark amusement.

_"____Harry Potter is dead!__"_

* * *

(A/N): Yikes! I'm so mean. Just throwing this out there – action scenes are hard to write – yowza! Hope you enjoyed that, I'll be updating soon, hopefully this weekend if I can keep this cold away, maybe early next week. I still won't give anything away, but I will remind you that I wrote this story well before book 7 was released and therefore am disregarding it – I may pull from it, I may not. Anything can happen still ;)

And to those who've commented that Tom has lost himself to Voldemort and has gone too far into madness after Hermione's disappearance to ever come back... well, I won't disagree with you, but I would like to point out some food for though... for a wizard hell bent on destroying his old name, he sure doesn't mind it when Hermione calls him Thomas, eh? Think on that little tidbit and review please!


	37. True Grief

(A/N): Sorry guys. I underestimated that cold I had which turned into the flu. Still, it hasn't been the longest wait, considering eh? As such, I'm still drugged up on medicine and am therefore not responsible for any typos and the like...

* * *

**_Carpe Diem  
Chapter 37_**

A disbelieving quiet clung to the area, only broken by Tom's raspy, dark amusement.

_"__Harry Potter is dead!__"_

Said dead person fought desperately to keep himself still, to hold the charade as long as possible and use this element of surprise to engage Tom once again, only on a more equal footing. It was no easy task, especially when he heard Ginny, his beautiful Ginny, give the most mournful cry, followed by Ron and Hermione gasping in denial.

It'd been a risk to take the killing curse, to allow himself to be hit by the green death. But it'd been a calculated one, a risk that Headmaster Dumbledore's portrait had convinced him was necessary.

Harry remembered to earlier that evening. Infiltrating Hogwarts had gone better than any of them had expected. When Harry had made the bold declaration of taking back the wizarding school, he'd been expecting more opposition from his housemates, particularly Remus and the Slytherins. But surprisingly, they'd agreed – not that they wanted to go in wands ablaze, but they hadn't argued over storming the castle. In fact, Harry suspected that Hermione's capture had even Lucius ready to throw caution to the wind.

Not that they didn't have an ace in the hole with Gryffindor's sword. When he spotted that little treasure while on his firebolt in the Lestrange vault, he swore it had been fate. The sword would be invaluable in destroying the last of Voldemort's horcruxes, hopefully before the dark wizard even made it to the school himself. The diadem was likely there, they knew, but they'd have to hurry and find it before the attack began, otherwise they'd be spread too thin trying to find it while simultaneously fending off Death Eaters.

Luckily, getting into Hogwarts was as simple as apparating to Hogsmeade and taking the secret passage under Honeydukes. They'd managed to get word to McGonagall beforehand who'd then proceeded to rouse their supporters within the castle in preparation of overthrowing the Death Eater scum who had taken over their beloved school. It certainly hadn't been easy, but expelling the Death Eaters hadn't been a horrible feat. Injuries were sustained, but there'd been no causalities. The Death Eaters were clearly unprepared for them, never suspecting that they'd be attacked on the same evening they'd launched their own trap.

Shortly after liberating the castle, the inner circle of the Order of the Phoenix found themselves strategizing in the Headmaster's office, only to find Albus Dumbledore's previously snoring visage was awake and quite clearly waiting for them.

Harry fought a grimace as he remembered the old wizard's suspicions that Harry, too, was a horcrux. An accidental one created by using the death of his own parents. Even more horrifying was that Dumbledore couldn't confirm it with any certainty – it'd been merely a strong hunch, an affinity the wizard had felt with Harry that Albus had only ever felt when dealing with Tom Riddle.

Harry nearly shuddered at the thought, but managed to remain still even as the Death Eaters began to shout in victory. He wouldn't have much longer before one came too close, too suspicious, and he'd have to give up the charade, but he knew to wait as long as possible.

The duel with Voldemort had been hard, naturally. Harry knew the dark wizard wielded more power than him – he was just a boy, after all, nearly a man. More than that, it'd been hard to stay focused on Voldemort knowing his friends and family were battling for their lives, especially Hermione who he'd known to be wandless.

At the thought of his once bushy haired friend, Harry felt his determination swell. It'd been hard to ignore what Voldemort had said about her being the cause for his parents' deaths. But Lucius had been sure to warn him before he left for the clearing that it was a tactic the dark wizard was very likely to use, not only to hurt Harry, but to wound Hermione just as much.

Harry'd seen the devastation in his friend and had wished to console her. He'd come to terms a while ago with her past and knew Hermione to be what she'd always been to him, a solid friend, an unwavering sister. She was the one who saved their necks time after time. She was the only one who stood by him when his name had come out of the Triwizard cup. She was always the one looking out for his best interest, even when he didn't want her to. Hermione was not the cause for the tragedy in Harry's life, he knew it as surely as he knew the horcrux within him was dead, his connection to Voldemort having gone dark. No, Hermione was the reason he was still alive. She saved him time and time again.

And he had a feeling that she'd save him once more tonight.

"Hermione!" Voldemort ordered. "Confirm his death for these fools, for yourself. Then take your place by _my side_!"

In the charged silence, Harry felt the dull thud of footsteps reverberating on the forest floor as they came closer to him. He was more sorry than he could say for his friend. While a large part of him cringed at the idea, he knew Hermione's love for Tom Riddle had been true. That she'd seen a side of him no one else had, or ever would. Even more, he could see there was still a part of Tom Riddle existing inside Lord Voldemort that cared for her. He'd felt it in his connection before the curse succeeded in ending it and destroying the horcrux within him. Even behind the madness and darkness, Harry could see a possessive light in the dark wizard's eyes when he looked at Hermione, a jealousy when he'd look from her to Harry. And Harry knew that possessiveness and jealousy were a thin line from obsession, an obsession possibly sprung from love.

Keeping his eyes closed, Harry could sense who he assumed to be his friend leaning over him. Small hands lifted him, teased his hair away from his face. A dark shadow lingered over him as he felt her bring his face alongside his, cheek to cheek. He could feel her tears there, the wetness sticking them together as he felt her fingers press firmly to his neck, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

She froze. His breathing stopped.

_Don't give us away, Hermione. You can do this_, his mind sang.

Her cheek pressed even firmer against him as she turned, her lips grazing his ear as she whispered so softly even he almost didn't hear her, "Be ready."

He did nothing to acknowledge her, no flick of his fingers against hers, no muscle twitch in his face as he fought to smile reassuringly for her.

_I will be ready_, he thought to her, hoping that she could feel his resolve._ I will be_.

* * *

As Hermione made her way to Tom's side, she fought to control her emotions, knowing that her husband was entirely too adept at reading her.

"He's dead," she lied, her voice ringing in the forest clearing.

She cringed at Ginny's wail, at Remus's chest-wracking sobs. But she ignored the guilt for causing that kind of pain to her friends and moved closer to Thomas, never breaking his gaze. They would forgive her the small betrayal, she knew. They would understand what she and Harry did – that they had to keep this element of surprise.

For the life of her, she had no clue why Tom's curse hadn't killed her friend, but she'd certainly felt the determination rolling off of Harry. She suspected he knew what had happened, that he'd even expected it.

"Who will be the first to bow to me and my lady? Lay down your wands and I will spare your lives in her name!"

She would've felt flattered he was willing to spare what was left of her friends if she'd actually believed he would. Tom was a master manipulator and right now, she was certain he was trying to manipulate her into conceding to him. Giving in to him and accepting the role he wanted her to be.

But the time for weakness was over. In a way, she'd already said goodbye to her husband earlier in the nightscape. It was time to stop dancing the fence of loyalties, of pretending to herself that her Thomas was still in there.

It was time to stop being weak and embrace what fate had dealt to her. No more denial. No more pretending. She was Hermione Riddle, wife to the Dark Lord – but she bowed to no one.

"Don't," she said, her eyes turning hard as they bore into Thomas. He quirked his head, a small smile turning his lips up on one side. "Harry is dead, but we will fight to the death. We will fight to honor him. We will not bow to you, Thomas."

A general murmur picked up, wizards gripping wands and preparing for battle again.

"You dare speak to your Lord in such a manner? You are nothing! Nothing but a flithy mudblood!" Bellatrix stormed closer to them, her eyes wild and bloodthirsty.

"He is no lord of mine," Hermione spoke clearly, evenly. "I gave no pledge."

"Ah, but you did, my dear. You pledged yourself to me the day you married me," Tom seemed amused at her defiance, confident in his victory.

"Then you have pledged yourself to me as well, Thomas," she countered. "You had to have known, even if you wanted otherwise, you had to have known that I wouldn't give in to this."

"Silence mudblood!"

"Now Bella, calm yourself," Voldemort hissed. "She is your lady. I will bring her to task for her defiance, but it is not _your_ place to question her."

"Yes, _Bella_," Hermione smirked, hoping the Harry was ready, hoping that their allies had taken her words to heart. She was risking death by angering the crazy witch as she had no wand to defend herself, but if Harry was paying attention as she hoped... "Be a good pet and do _shut up_."

Predictably, Bellatrix could not control herself and she immediately launched a vicious slicing hex at Hermione.

"_Protego_!"

The spell rebounded, nearly hitting Bellatrix.

Silence reigned as everyone stared at the boy who had cast the spell.

"Enough Tom," Harry said, he was standing tall, determination hanging on him like a cloak. "We finish this once and for all. Just you and me."

Hermione stared at her friend, feeling proud of his courage. He was ready, as she'd told him to be. He looked honed and ready to duel – like a weapon, she suddenly thought. Harry was a weapon newly forged, ready to fight.

Thomas looked furiously at Harry before turning to her. His eyes were vivid red and accusing. Her wrist ached and throbbed and before she knew what was happening, Tom slipped into her mind with a silent _legilimens_. Instead of rifling through her thoughts, she saw the vision of his past self, staring her down. She felt a hint of his fingers across her cheek and saw the glimmer of what could've been tears as she stared into his green eyes that burned with betrayal.

"This is what you've decided, then?" his sibilant voice touched her thoughts.

Even though she knew it was the nightscape allowing him to grant them this brief moment on the battlefield, Hermione allowed herself to lean into the ghost of his touch, knowing it would be the last time she felt it.

"Yes, Thomas," she whispered. "This is the way it must be."

She felt his mind rear back from hers, taking the visage of her husband and breaking the spell.

"So be it! _Avada Kedavra_!"

"_Expelliarmus_!"

Harry and Tom's spells overlapped and connected in a way they hadn't in the previous duel. Immediately, the vibrant gold light _priori incantatum_ formed, showering the field with sparks as it erupted into a dome around Harry and Voldemort, Hermione herself trapped in the forcefield.

She could see the light of their respective spells, each trying to overtake the other. Just as Tom's killing curse pushed closer to Harry, she'd see Harry rebound in his strength and force it back towards Tom. They were both too strong and stubborn to give in, Hermione feared that they had finally come to a stalemate.

And they very well could've been if Bellatrix Lestrange hadn't made herself known.

Hermione couldn't see what was going on outside the golden hue of the _priori_ effect, but she also hadn't seen Bellatrix was also in the dome, having been standing too close to Tom when the effect started.

"_Crucio_!"

Hermione collapsed with a scream as Lestrange's curse hit true. It felt like someone was flaying her skin and sticking red hot pokers under her nails. Through the pain, she could see Bellatrix creeping closer to her, a fanatical gleam in her eyes. Hermione knew what was coming. She knew the witch was going to kill her.

"You were never worthy!" Bellatrix shouted, smiling as Hermione writhed under her curse. "I will replace you at his side, and the world will know true greatness! _Avada_-"

"No!"

It had not been Hermione or Harry who'd screamed. Bellatrix lifted her curse and looked to her master in horror. Gasping, shuddering with pain, Hermione managed to tilt her head and see Thomas – _her Thomas_ – looking at her from behind red eyes. Red eyes that dimmed as they stared at her until a dark forest green bled into his gaze.

Tom had always had beautiful eyes.

"Hermione," he muttered softly, pleadingly.

"No!" Bellatrix squealed, furious. "It should be me, me! _Avada_-"

"My love," she saw his lips mouth the words, but she couldn't hear him over Bellatrix's horrible shrieking and the pain ringing in her ears. She might have even imagined it.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

Tom had moved quicker than humanly possible. With firm resolve, he'd pushed his curse closer to Harry, buying enough time to break the connection and send a killing curse to Bellatrix Lestrange. His aim, even in the mere seconds he'd had, proved true. Hermione looked up, prone on the floor as pain lingered in every part of her body and soul. The green light illuminated the witch, bathing her in an ghostly glow before she collapsed to the earth, dead.

Hermione's eyes flickered to Tom. They stared at each other, green eyes meeting brown, before Harry's spell – free of the _priori incantatum_ stalemate – pushed Tom's previous killing curse into him.

There was an odd quirking of Tom's lips, before he too collapsed. Dead.

The golden glow of _priori incantatum_ dissipated. A strange humming echoed in her ears, and Hermione was oblivious to all except the memory of the last few moments. The memory of her Thomas bleeding through Lord Voldemort vissage, willingly opening himself to death in order to save her.

She crawled to the crumpled body of her husband, ignoring every ache and pain that protested the movement. With a strength she didn't know she still possessed, Hermione lifted his head to her lap and stared down at him. His pallid features were turning grey, his face completely slack as though he was sleeping. There was only the slight curling of his lip upwards on the right side that hinted of his usual smirk. Like even in death, he had somehow won.

She startled as a hand gripped her shoulder. Looking up, she met Harry's sympathetic eyes. "You saved us, Hermione."

Tears welled and spilled unashamedly from her eyes as she stared at her friend before looking back down at her husband. And it _had_ been her husband, in the end. Not Lord Voldemort, but her beautiful Thomas who had broken the connection to Harry.

Her Thomas who had saved her. Who had accepted death to save her life.

"It wasn't me," she whispered hoarsely. "It was him. He saved us."

Harry didn't deny it even if he couldn't fathom the truth of her words.

Lord Voldemort had allowed himself to be killed, so that he could save Hermione. By saving Hermione, he saved them all from living in his darkness.

Around them, Death Eaters were being subdued by the Order. Some were attempting to flee as Order members gave chase. Many were staring over at her in shock, in horror.

Ignoring them all, even Harry, Hermione looked back down at her husband. Bringing a hand to his lips, she smiled softly through her tears and pain. "I love you," she whispered breathlessly. "By saving me, you saved us all."

Her heart bled for his loss, and Hermione gave herself in to true grief, knowing nothing else.

* * *

(A/N): Some of you called it, some of you didn't. Some of you probably hate it, some of you may love it. I only ask that you review and let me know...

Only one chapter left, my lovelies, and you may be surprised by what I have in store...


	38. Epilogue

_(A/N):_ I'm torn between being relieved and heartbroken as I post this...

_Carpe Diem_  
_Epilogue_

"Are you sure about this? You don't have to leave."

Hermione rubbed her eyes. "I know I don't have to, Draco. I _want_ to."

The blonde haired wizard cocked his head to the side as he studied her. "So you're running away, is that it?"

She pursed her lips. "Don't be a brat. You know that's not it."

He ignored her. "And what about the others, eh? What am I supposed to tell them?"

Giving a sigh, Hermione absently rubbed at her wrist. "Just tell them I've gone abroad."

He snorted derisively. "That won't work and you know it. They'll come running after you before I could even finish spouting that dung."

Merlin, how she wished he'd shut up and stop making so much sense. Between Harry and Ron pestering her with their constant concern, Lucius watching her with knowing eyes, Hermione was starting to find it hard to even breathe without someone asking her if she was alright. It'd been two weeks – _of course, she wasn't alright_.

She'd been so busy worry about the horcruxes, Thomas, Harry, and the battle that she never once considered what she'd do when the fighting was done, never once gave thought to how it would all end for her. And now, with the dust still settling around them, Hermione felt claustrophobic. It felt like she was suffocating from her friends, the memory of Thomas's last moments, and the weight of responsibility she felt for those who had fallen.

Tears pricked her eyes. Percy, Colin, Cho, Kingsley... Remus. Her heart stuttered. She carried the names of the fallen tattooed across her heart, their faces haunting behind her closed eyes. Severus had been close, too. When he'd been revealed as a double agent, the Death Eaters had been furious and he'd been hit with a deadly combination of hexes that had left him bed ridden in St. Mungo's. He was still there, snarking at the mediwitches and insisting he was fine even though he was only conscious for three maybe four hours a day.

"Please Malfoy," she whispered. "I can't stay here any longer."

Draco sighed. "I'll think of something," he said softly. "I'll stop them from chasing you."

The relief she felt was immense and instantaneous. "Thank you," she said, her voice vibrating with feeling. Already she felt lighter, knowing that Draco would help her escape.

"Will you come back?" he asked.

There was a moment of silence.

"Eventually," she said.

* * *

She found herself in an abandoned shack on the outskirts of Little Hangleton. The walls were barely standing and the stench of dust and mold tickled her nose and eyes. She knew it to be the once home of Tom's mother and her family, knew it to be the place where he'd killed them.

But it was also a place no one knew about, a place Harry wouldn't to think to look for her at. She'd thought about going to the house Tom had bought her long ago, but with it being a recent location of Death Eater meetings and with few of the dark wizards still on the run, she decided it was best not to risk it. Perhaps once they were apprehended she could visit the house Thomas had intended them to make a home of.

Cleaning and repairing the shack was a simple thing even though it was a bit time consuming. It was the right amount of monotonous work and concentration that she needed. She spent the entire day using her wand to repair, clean, and heal the one room shack. It reminded her of the shrieking shack, but the instant she made that connection, her heart throbbed as she remembered Remus and she forced her thoughts away and back to the task at hand.

When she settled into the small bed, Hermione felt anticipation and weariness cover her. Slowly, her eyes began to droop and right as sleep claimed her, she felt a soft caress over her throbbing wrist.

"_Hello love."_

_Hermione turned and faced him. He was leaning against a wall of the shack, his casual pose just that, a pose._

"_I'm surprised you came here," he said. She couldn't tell if he was angry or not. His face and voice were annoyingly impassive. _

"_No one will think to search for me here. I can be alone."_

"_Alone with me," he pointed out with a smirk._

"_True enough," she conceded._

_The first night he appeared in her dreams after the Final Battle, Hermione'd been certain it was owing to stress and grief. But Tom had been quick to dissuade her and with the throbbing of her wrist she knew it was the nightscape he'd cast on her – had refused to take off her – that brought him to her even in his death._

"_Have you turned me into a horcrux?" she asked abruptly._

"_Don't be absurd," he said._

"_Answer me."_

"_No, Hermione, I haven't," he sighed._

"_Then how is this possible – you're dead. The nightscape should've lifted, right? Are you haunting me?"_

_He sighed again, moving away from the wall until he stopped in front of her. His hands dropped lightly to her shoulders and moved down her arms, rubbing soothingly. "A part of me lives in you," he admitted. "But it's not like a horcrux. I'm quite dead, you rest assured."_

"_Why did you cast it, then? If it's not to bring you back somehow? Is this like your diary?"_

"_Use your head, Hermione. Why do you think I cast it?" _

_She thought. He'd cast the nightscape relatively soon after she'd come back from the past, but other than bending her to his will, she couldn't think of why he'd use such a curse on her._

"_Hermione," he murmured lowly, breaking her circling thoughts. She looked up at him and the glint in his eyes was soft as he considered her. "I waited over fifty years for us to be reunited. I died for you. I took every precaution to ensure our paths would cross again, and used all the magic within my means to make sure we'd never be parted again. As you well know, that is no small feat."_

"_But, but you were so sure you'd win. You were power drunk and mad – you were insane, Thomas!"_

"_Quite," he agreed, his fingers sifting through her hair. "But I locked away the sanest part of me in you. I sealed myself, my memory, to you. I'd never risk us being parted again."_

"_But – you hit me," she cried out._

"_I'm not without remorse."_

_She snorted. So like him to find a way to apologize without saying it. _

"_Hermione," he said, his hand tightened in her hair and tilted her face up to his. Lowering his lips to hers, she could feel them teasing her as he spoke again. "I'm dead. I'll always be dead. But I will always be within you. I promised I would never leave you – and you'd never leave me. I keep my promises."_

_He kissed her and she kissed him back._

"_I love you," he breathed against her skin. "Always."_

"_Thomas," her heart thrummed in her chest. "You know I've always loved you," she admitted, kissing him again._

_And there was no more talking that night._

When she woke, she could feel the ghost of his weight against her, the warmth of his body over her. The light trailed across the room and even though she was still broken and she was alone, Hermione slowly found herself smiling.

For the first time in what seemed like years, she felt content.

Her wrist gave a gentle ache, and the smile grew.

* * *

(A/N): *_Sigh_* A bittersweet day for me... Please, let me know what you thought. I know many felt horrible when Tom died, but I'd always planned for that - indeed, it felt wrong to end it any other way. As much as I wanted the happily ever after, ride off into the sunset ending, it wasn't right - wasn't believable. I'm sure most of you feel the same way, even if we all hoped otherwise...

So I say goodbye now - thank you all for reading - for your patience and encouragement. I implore you again to review, as this is the end and would love to hear your thoughts. Please put me on author alert as I find myself tempted to create outtakes and maybe future-takes...

_Adieu!_


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